


Turambar – A Friend, A King & A Mortal

by Jess_S



Series: Elda Kundu Kurutar [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 02:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 67,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4082479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_S/pseuds/Jess_S
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recap of the story, thus far: After a little more than 400-years of living in Middle Earth, Harry has come to accept his place among the elves. He has also traveled a great deal, eager to learn of his new world, leaving his foster-families protective-keepings much more often than they’d like. Having visited the Shire, Minas Tirith in Gondor, the people of Rohan, the town of Bree and others like it, as well as The Shire, Imladris, and even the Black Gate of Mordor, he’s become very well-traveled. He even managed to sneakily gain access to Saruman’s records and learn some of the Istari arts of Middle Earth that way, though he was forced to leave in a hurry... Though he resisted it at first, Harry has also fallen in love and married... :-D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**Elda Kundu, Kurutar** _

** There And Back Again: Part I – A Wizard’s Tale **

A Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings Crossover

** Turambar – A Friend, A King & A Mortal **

**Part I**

By Jess S

 

Harry and Ránewen passed many years within the Golden Wood, among the people to whom he was now an acknowledged prince. No one really knew _why_ King Thranduil had declared him a prince instead of a lord. Though both were close kin to kings of old – Lord Celeborn a prince of Doriath and kinsman of Thingol Singollo, and Galadriel a Noldorin princess by birth as the daughter of Finarfin – neither had claimed their royal heritage in many centuries. But Thranduil of Greenwood was well-known for his whims of fancy, all the more noticeable in times of peace, and none were going to protest his partiality to the fostered wizard.

 

Early on in their marriage the prospect of children had worried Harry, as he did not like what his return to Earth would mean for such a child. Obviously, his son or daughter might wish to go with their parents, which would mean that should they survive the war, they would almost certainly be condemned to live their eternal lives in a mortal land or bind themselves to mortals there and in so doing forsake their immortal birthright. None of the elves – let alone Harry and Ránewen – were overly fond of either option. But neither did Harry or Ránewen want to consider abandoning any child of theirs, leaving them behind on Middle Earth when they went to Earth. Several elves had pointed out that surely Harry and Ránewen should be able to return to Arda when Harry’s task was complete, but it was a chance neither really wanted to take.

 

This set them apart as somewhat odd for Elven newly-weds in these fairly peaceful times, as parenthood was seen as inevitable and highly desired result of all unions, but the Galadhrim did understand the circumstances the two were coming from when they chose to carefully avoid the conception of a child. This was actually easier than it might sound, as not only were Elves not productive anywhere near as often as mortals, but Harry was also able to find several spells in Hermione’s Tome – as he’d come to call his most-clever childhood friend’s exceedingly-helpful gift – and as long as he remembered to cast the spell at the right times they were fine. Eventually he was even able to make a potion from the Tome that he only needed to take once a year, which Ránewen decided to make a ceremony of every year on the eve of their anniversary. The potion apparently froze his productive system: made him “shoot blanks,” as the Muggles said. Ránewen eventually started taking the same potion with him, reasoning that it made them doubly safe and that it ensured they wouldn’t loose the opportunity to eventually have children, as though elven fertility cycles were not all that well known, most Elves had children within their first two millennia of life, and it didn’t look like that would be an option for them. So every year, a month before their anniversary, Harry would make two doses of the same potion for the two of them, and on the eve of their anniversary Ránewen would set up an elaborate meal for them. They’d spend the time imaging what their lives might be like with children in them, something both truly wanted, but eventually reasoning that it would be selfish to bring children into the world in their circumstances, and then they’d take the potion again...

 

Nevertheless, their lives together were happy. Blissful, even. As both balanced out and complimented each other remarkably well. Aside from their change in marital status and the presence of a recognized, life-long partner, not much had changed for either of them.  They were treated the same by the Galadhrim, though Ránewen had to get used to being bowed to and addressed as a royal by all but her immediate family.  

 

Soon after their wedding, before the King and Queen of Greenwood had returned to their realm, Ránewen had graciously accepted an offer from Queen Cuilwen to appoint tutors to master the skills she would be expected to have as a princess. This tutelage kept her days full for nearly a decade, though it was carefully balanced out with time spent with her husband and her in-laws. After Queen Cuilwen’s tutors had returned to the Greenwood, she would continue meeting with her mother-in-law on a regular basis, to discuss her role amongst the Galadhrim as well as training in the ancient arts Galadriel could pass to her. When they visited Imladris, she met just as often not only with Celebrían but with Elrond as well, learning the healing arts. Still, she rather preferred these forays to Elrond’s sanctuary, as her husband’s – and her own – status were still a rather well kept secret, even among the Eldar, so very few of the Elves in Imladris recognized them as anything other than members of the aristocracy – but not royalty – from Lórien. Most of the elves of Imladris did not know Harry’s history or adoptive heritage, but did assume he was a minor Maia, as a way to explain his immortality and the magical abilities that only some of them had seen but been sternly ordered by Lord Elrond himself not to spread around.

 

While Ránewen was being trained in her royal duties, Harry was also training. Struggling to master the texts he’d stolen from Saruman the White in the Istari arts, while as the same time also training with his mother and/or Elrond and constantly striving to increase his abilities in the arts of his own world. Some days they barely saw each other except for meals, and even then only regularly at supper and before falling into bed afterwards. But they were content. Ránewen was an immortal elf, and Harry had become accustom to the long-lived outlook of his adoptive kin. And it certainly helped that now, no matter what, they both knew they would never be truly alone again.

 

It wasn’t until shortly after their thirty-third anniversary that they had any need for this bond to be tested.

 

~ * **_Celeborn’s Library, Caras Galadon, Lothlórien, Víressë 7, 541 TA (afternoon)_** * ~

 

“ _Have you heard_ , melda nîn?” {my love}

 

Harry looked up from the documents his father had given him to study with a small frown on his face, surprised at his wife’s abrupt arrival. Normally she would be studying with his mother now, but if news had come from outside of Lórien, she’d be one of the first to know in that case. “ _Heard what,_ melda nîn?”

 

“ _The King of Gondor is dead._ ”

 

“ _Rómendacil?_ ” Harry asked with a start, deciding his father’s documents – something to do with the history of the mithril trade on Middle Earth, interesting in theory but beyond boring on parchment – could wait for another time.

 

“Uma, _his son, Turambar, will undoubtedly be crowned soon._ ” {Yes}

 

As he finished carefully putting the documents away in a fashion his father wouldn’t – hopefully couldn’t – find messy, Harry shook his head as he made his way over to his wife to wrap a gentle arm around her shoulders. “ _I wasn’t aware Gondor was fairing so badly against the Easterling invaders._ ”

 

“ _They were not. The Gondorian army managed to drive the Easterlings back quite a ways, but apparently walked into what was either a planned trap or a gathering place for a large number of reinforcements from the east along the border. Rómendacil was slain in the battle that followed, and Prince Turambar was wounded._ ”

 

Harry sighed, pulling his wife into a gentle hug and resting his chin atop her head as she laid hers on his shoulder. “Ai _, it is a perilous world we live in,_ vesse nîn.” {my wife}

 

“ _There are times it can be,_ verno nîn,” she agreed softly. {my husband}

 

They were silent for several moments, both content to just hold each other in what usually served as the Lord of Lothlórien’s private sanctuary. The songs of the wood hung around them, songs from the ancient trees themselves intermingling with the songs of those who dwelled in them.

 

After a short time, Harry sighed, and murmured into his wife’s dark hair, “ _I need to go._ ”

 

He felt her resigned sigh against his neck. “ _To Gondor?_ ”

 

“Uma.”

 

Ránewen pulled back, raising her head to meet his eyes. “ _I had thought you might._ ” A dark eyebrow rose over one violet-hued eye. “ _The Lord and Lady will not approve._ ”

 

Harry snorted, smiling slightly. “ _I’m almost four and a half centuries old. They’ll get over it._ ”

 

Ránewen laughed, shaking her head, “ _That may work for most young elves,_ melda nîn, _but their mothers can’t yell at them from here to almost anywhere on Middle Earth._ ”

 

Harry winced at the reminder that though his Occlumency shields were formidable, they were nothing to his far more experienced mother. As the ancient elleth had demonstrated on several occasions already. Though only when he had deserved it, of course. “ _That is true._ ”

 

After a moment, the elleth shook her head. “ _Perhaps if you offer to take my cousins with you without a fuss, she may relent._ ”

 

Harry nodded, seeing the wisdom in her suggestion even as he met her eyes again, almost hesitantly asking, “ _And you,_ melda nîn _? You do not mind?_ ”

 

Ránewen sighed again, her long dark hair fanning back and forth gracefully as she shook her head. “ _I will never be happy with the idea of you putting yourself at risk for any reason,_ melda nîn, _but I know better than to try to hold you back from doing what you think is right. To do so would be to deny who you are, and you are the one I love._ ”

 

Harry smiled before pulling her fully into his embrace once more and lowering his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. As he slowly pulled away and met her eyes once more, his lips once again widened into a small smile. “Hannon le.” {Thank you}

 

~ * **_Dining Hall, Caras Galadon, Lothlórien, Víressë 7, 541 (evening)_** * ~

 

“ _No._ ”

 

“Dan Adar—” {But Father—}

 

“ _The affairs of men are not our concern,_ ion nîn. _Nor are they your concern._” {my son}

 

Harry shook his head, frowning deeply as he met his foster-father’s silvery gaze. “ _I cannot stay amongst only the Elves my entire life,_ Ada _. If I do, how then will I be able to relate to mortals when I return to my world? How will I know how to live when I am mortal once more?_” {Dad}

 

“ _That time has not yet come. And with our blood in your veins you have the choice of the Peredhil and need not resign yourself to mortality._ ” Celeborn declared sternly.

 

Harry shook his head. “ _Even so, I will need to return to Earth and interact with mortals. That time will come,_ Ada _! It will, and I won’t be ready for war in a mortal world if I hide from every possible learning experience this world gives me._ ”

 

This made his foster-father’s frown somehow deepen. “ _You think of going to war as a lesson?_ ”

 

“ _No,_ ” Harry shook his head. “ _Not strictly speaking. But it surely contains lessons – experiences – that I can’t possibly encounter anywhere else. Experiences that I almost certainly will need... I know I learned much in the short time I last rode among the soldiers of Gondor._ ”

 

“ _At that time you were accompanied by our Marchwarden, who is equaled in combat by very few and who, as I recall, was not at all happy at being your only guard in such circumstances. You cannot go to war unguarded,_ ion nîn.” Galadriel spoke for the first time since he’d broached the topic over their after-supper tea, her muted, melancholy air making him wince even as he forced himself to ignore it. {my son}

 

“ _No, of course not,_ Nana _._ ” Harry quickly agreed, remembering Ránewen’s suggestion from earlier. “ _I will take Veryan and Voronwë with me._ ”

 

“I Toroni Míriel _were acceptable guards when--_ ” {the brothers Míriel}

 

“ _Whenever I have walked amongst men before?_ ” Harry cut in, not liking where his father was going.

 

“Uma, _but they have little more experience in battle than you do. They are barely a few centuries your elder._ ” Celeborn finished. {Yes}

 

“ _They are both capable warriors. Haldir trained them well._ ”

 

“ _He did,_ ion nîn, dan—” {my son, but—}

 

“ _I’m not going to just go running into battle, Ada!_ ”

 

For a moment all were silent, the melody of the nearby practicing choir filling the tense air around them. Then Lord Celeborn shook his head once again. “ _Then what exactly are you planning to do,_ ion nîn?”

 

“ _Gondor has driven the invaders back to the border, and while there are still skirmishes along there, they will not launch an all out attack until the old king is buried and the new one crowned. They are calling in allies, and recruiting soldiers from all around Gondor. Recruiting them, and training them._ ”

 

“ _You plan to join the regular army?_ ” Galadriel questioned, apparently following his line of logic but not entirely understanding it.

 

“Ion nîn, _you are a prince of the Eldar!_ ” Celeborn protested, shaking his head.

 

Harry sighed, this above all else was one of the things he did not like about his adoption. He knew it made him a ‘lord’ in the eyes of most, and a ‘prince’ to all who knew King Thranduil’s mind, but in his mind he was, still, ‘just Harry’. “ _I know,_ Adar, dan—”

 

“ _You claim to wish to learn the lessons of war for their use in your own world,_ ion nîn,” Galadriel interrupted him, a slightly puzzled look on her otherwise serene face.

 

“Uma, Nana.” (Yes, Mom)

 

“ _When you return to your world, you will be a leader in that war as well. Why do you wish to be anything less in this world?_ ”

 

“ _It’s not – I—_ ” Harry shook his head, stopping to take a deep breath before continuing. “ _How can I lead people I know nothing about?_ ”

 

“ _By example, of course._ ” Celeborn immediately replied, “ _In that you have always excelled,_ ion nîn.”

 

“ _In social functions among the Eldar,_ uma _,_ ” Harry nodded, taking a sip of his tea before continuing. “ _But war is different, is it not?_ ”

 

Celeborn sighed, shaking his head. “Uma, _of course it is, but that does not mean—_ ”

 

“ _If I were to show up in Minas Anor with an army from Lothlórien, what would happen?_ ”

 

Again Celeborn shook his head, “ _You would undoubtedly be received with some skepticism, but welcome nonetheless._ ”

 

“ _And given how much the race of men trusts the Eldar, how much would I be able to learn from them during my time there? For I would have to be disguised as an elf, and would undoubtedly not interact with any save the officers and the highest ranking nobility. When I last fought alongside men, I stood out even then for I chose not to disguise myself and I had a bodyguard who would not pretend to be anything else._ ” Here, Harry made a face as he remembered Haldir’s innumerable obstinate refusals to help them fit in by acting, but he continued without saying more on the topic. “ _Though I fought Orcs and certainly improved on my skills with a blade, I learned little of the soldiers. They all knew I was a lord of some kind, and the officers did too. That’s not what I want. I want to learn._ ”

 

Galadriel cut in, shaking her head to forestall any further protests her husband might offer. “ _And how do you wish to do that,_ ion nîn _?_ ”

 

“ _I want to join the army as a regular recruit. I’ll have to disguise myself somewhat as well as Veryan and Voronwë, so we can claim to be brothers, that way we shouldn’t have trouble keeping track of each other and should be kept together if we join at the same time. We’ll receive training and such, then we’ll go to war._ ”

 

His foster-parents were silent for several long moments, the only sound in the room at all was made by Ránewen as she stirred her tea, apparently still ignoring the entire conversation. As expected, his parent’s attention finally turned to her.

 

“ _And you,_ ien nîn _, what do you think of your husband’s request?_ ” Galadriel asked gently. {my daughter}

Ránewen, having already set her spoon down once more, took a sip of her tea before responding. “ _I am his wife,_ heri nîn _, not his keeper. It is not my place to keep him from doing what he thinks is right._ ” {my lady}

 

“ _And do you think this is right?_ ” Celeborn all but demanded, his tone gentling half-way through the question in response to a sharp glance from his own wife.

 

Ránewen took another slow sip of her tea, seeming to consider the question as she slowly swallowed the soothing brew. “ _I understand his reasoning,_ heru nîn _,_ ” she replied. “ _And I know he does need to learn such things. Much as I wish he did not, I knew and understood all this when I married him. When I swore to not only love him, but respect and trust him as well._ ” Finally seeming to draw her attention back to the present, she met the silver-haired lord’s silver eyes. “ _In this, as in all things, he has my love and support._ ” {my lord}

 

Harry offered her a warm smile as he gently took hold of one of her hands in thanks. Turning his attention back to his parents, he was relieved to finally see reluctant agreement in their expressions. “ _We’ll leave in three days._ ”

 

~ * **_Mar o Haryon, Caras Galadon, Lothlórien, Víressë 10, 541_** * ~

 

Harry sighed as he entered the entry hall of their talan to find Ránewen waiting by the door. He walked quickly over to her and wrap his arms around her once more. After several moments of simply holding her, he murmured into her ear, “Namárië, melda nîn.” {Farewell, my love.}

 

When she remained silent he pulled back slightly, frowning as he had to put a finger under her chin to tip her face up towards his.

 

“Man—Daro i!” Harry shook his head, gently reaching up a thumb to wipe her silent tears away. {What—Stop that!}

 

Ránewen sighed, shaking her head only slightly as she was unable to pull her head away. Instead she closed her eyes before murmuring, “ _I promised myself I wouldn’t do this..._ ”

 

“ _Look at me,_ melda nîn.” Harry ordered softly, waiting for her eyes to open in compliance before continuing. “ _I will return._ ” {my love}

 

“ _I know, but... I’m afraid._ ” Ránewen replied, another silent tear slipping from one eye.

 

“ _Fear not._ ” Harry murmured, wiping the new tear away before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her lips. As he drew back, he pulled her to him once more, again resting his head atop hers as he wrapped his arms more firmly around her. “ _I have to do this..._ ”

 

“ _I know..._ ” she murmured softly.

 

Harry nodded slightly, continuing even more softly into her hair, “ _I have to do this... But it won’t be too long. We’ll talk at least every week, with the mirrors. And I have Horta to send letters with._ ”

 

Horta was one of several falcons he’d raised from hatching, raised and trained to deliver messages on command with a combination of Wizarding magic and the Elves innate connection to nature. More often than not, they were used to deliver letters between Lothlórien and Imladris, for anything not important enough to intrude on the privacy of their kin with unexpected telepathic calls. Now he would be taking their fastest falcon – named ‘speed’ for that reason – with him, to keep in touch with his kin through a somewhat reasonable method. He couldn’t very well tell the mail dispatch in the army to take letters to the _elven_ _realm_ of Lothlórien, now could he?

 

“ _I will miss you dearly._ ” Ránewen murmured, her voice barely audible.

 

“ _And I you,_ ” Harry replied as he pulled back to meet her eyes once more. “ _But I have to go._ ”

 

Ránewen nodded, her tears seeming to have stopped for the moment at least. “ _May the sun and the stars shine on your road._ ”

 

“ _Many thanks,_ ” Harry replied, pulling her to him for another kiss, which lasted quite a bit longer than the last. As he withdrew he smiled softly down at her, placing a gentle kiss on her brow before stepping back. “Meleth vîn.” (I love you.)

 

“Meleth vîn. Namárië.”

 

“Namárië.”

 

~ * **_Minas Anor, Gondor - Víressë 24, 541_** * ~

 

After days of travel, Harry was not overly happy having to leave his steed stabled on the lowest level of Gondor’s westernmost fortress. But only nobility were allowed to ride up to the city’s center on a regular basis, and that wasn’t what he wanted to be here. So here he was, moving with relative ease through the crowds, a disguised Veryan and Voronwë a step or two behind him.

 

The Míriel brothers’ Elvish traits – and his own – were carefully concealed by a permanent glamour he’d woven into three different pendants, which all wore under their shirts. As they were all supposed to be brothers, he also made them look somewhat alike, though it obviously wasn’t much work with the brothers. At his father’s suggestion, he’d also embedded a slight notice-me-not charm into the mix, which would keep people from focusing too much unwanted attention on them, and more importantly, keep them from noticing the pendants they wore at all times at all. It’d had worked at the gate, so he supposed that was something. And he’d soon get to see if it worked on Gondor’s king-to-be, who with his – however distant – elven heritage, should be the most difficult one to hoodwink.

 

Originally built atop the Hill of Guard facing the capital, Osgiliath and the Pelennor Fields, with Mount Mindolluin at its back, even after being nearly destroyed in Sauron’s first reign of terror, the restored Minas Anor was an impressive fortress and city in its own right. Though not nearly as populated as Gondor’s true capital, the fortress that the king-to-be’s grandfather had established as a summer residence for the royal family more than a century before was still growing, and certainly might, with its greater security, one day surpass Osgiliath’s population.

 

The city itself was divided into seven separate levels, each one-hundred feet higher than the one below it and surrounded by great white walls, which undoubtedly was where the city’s growing epithet of ‘the white city,’ was coming from. Only the outermost wall was different, made of an even more resilient black stone. All of the city’s great iron gates were strategically placed with potential sieges in mind: there was no straight shot to the city’s high center and five of the seven levels, all but the lowest and highest, were totally split in two by the spur of rock that rose up to form the summit, upon which city’s uppermost level rested on. Though there were stables for riders on the sixth level, along with the House of Healing, only nobles, officers and occasionally those in desperate need of healing, rode there.

 

As they passed through the tunnel that led from the sixth level to the seventh, Harry felt the foresight he’d inherited from his foster-mother with the blood ritual become momentarily active, placing the image of a great white tower behind a dying white tree before his eyes. But before he could see anything else it faded, replaced with the sight of the wholly healthy white tree in the center of a heavily guarded courtyard.

 

“Sergeant Dravis will take you the rest of the way,” Harry was brought out of his musings when the soldier that had been leading them thus far stopped and saluted a man with slightly darker coloring to his uniform. “Some new recruits, Sir.”

 

“Carry on, Guardsman,” the officer ordered. The guard spun on his heel to return to the city below, while the higher ranking Gondorian, identified as ‘Sergeant Dravis’, looked over the three scrolls the other had handed him. “You three are brothers?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Harry confirmed, while the twins stayed quiet.

 

“I said, YOU THREE ARE BROTHERS?” the Sergeant commanded, louder this time.

 

“YES, SIR!” all three replied, in unison.

 

Sergeant Dravis didn’t quite look surprised, but he did look all three of them over for a second before returning to his perusal of their sheets. “Well, at least you learn quick... You, boy,” this time he did nod to just Harry, probably because he was in the front. “Your name.”

 

Suppressing a smirk of amusement at being addressed as ‘boy,’ again, Harry replied, “Hadrian, Sir, son of Hames.”

 

“An’ your brothers?”

 

“Are Hama and Herall, Sir.”

 

“Humph,” the officer nods, before his eyes finally lit on an issue Harry had been waiting for. “You’re from up north?”

 

“Yes, Sir. From Hollin, just southeast of Rhudaur, Sir.”  


“An’ what brings you to Minas Anor?” Dravis asked, slight skepticism in his eyes, though his face bore a neutral expression.

 

“Opportunity, Sir.” Harry offered, having decided this should make sense coming from three who were supposedly the penniless-sons of peasants.

 

After a moment Sergeant Dravis nodded, apparently satisfied. “Very well. _Guardsman!_ ” he called, turning his head slightly and focusing his attention on a nearby soldier, who immediately came over.

 

“Yes, Sir?”

 

“You’ll get these three outfitted, prepped for training on the morrow and to the quartermaster for their bunks.” That said, the Sergeant turned back to them. “Were we not already a’ war, you’d train for at leas’ two months before joinin’ the army. But since we’re at war that mandatory training time has been crunched to three weeks. If you pass inspection after your third week, you’ll be sworn in before the new King. If not, you can recycle back through training twice more before we’ll send you packing. You start tomorrow. Your quartermaster will assign you each of you a mentor from volunteers amongst the present soldiers, you may approach your mentor whenever they are off duty for questions, or your superior officer and instructors if your questions is imperative to your instruction. Any questions?”

 

“No, Sir!” all three replied again, receiving a somewhat approving nod in response.

 

“Dismissed!”

 

Turning they followed the Guardsman that had been picked to play the next tour guide for them next, who was already marching off at a rather rapid pace.

 

~ * **_Minas Anor, Gondor - Lótessë 12, 541_** * ~

 

“Nervous, Hadrian?”

 

Harry turned to meet his mentor’s amusedly raised eyebrow with a slight smirk. “No, Garath, I’m not.”

 

“Well, that’s good I suppose,” the ‘older’ soldier replied, shaking his head in still apparent amusement. All around them soon-to-be soldiers of Gondor mingled with their mentors in the courtyard of the White Tree. “You’ve no real reason to be nervous, really, I mean every one’s surprised you and your brother’s actually passed inspection after only three weeks of training, but the standards are a bit lower now and you three are rather gifted fighters and students.”

 

“Why is everyone surprised?” Harry asked with a small frown, not overly happy at having drawn this unexpected attention to himself.

 

“Well, for one it’s not everyday that three peasants join the army already able to do reading, the numbers and whatnot. And even then, most of the recruits haven’ been able to make it through their first inspection since the three weeks have been ‘creed. Most can do it by their second inspection, but three weeks usually just isn’t enough time.”

 

Harry shrugged, still a bit discomfited at this – rather foolishly – unexpected need for attention. “We’re just lucky, I guess. Our parents are well-educated and there are a few real good swordsman back home.”

 

“Yeah, lucky,” Garath nodded, smirking at the idea that mere luck had gotten the kid through all the necessary tests – scholarly, combatively and orderly – with flying colors. The scholars that oversaw the military’s – rather limited – education _loved_ the three sons of Hames. All three had bested their sword-instructors on the first try, quickly being passed over to the higher expertise of various sword _masters_ in the army for their training time. And as for order: though they might need to be corrected on a few things for formalities and the like, all three learned quickly and they were so neat and tidy with their few personal possessions and uniforms that very few corrections were needed. The inspection officers had found it uncanny. Being proficient in one area was praise-worthy, coming into the army like you’d already been trained and tried for it was another. Coming out of his thoughts to see a somewhat uncomfortable expression still graced his trainee’s face, Garath slapped ‘Hadrian’ on the back in amusement. “Chin up, lad! This ain’ something the king’ll be _unhappy_ abou’! With the scholars’ praise ya migh’ve even skipped a rank if he’s in a good mood.”

 

“I wouldn’t think that too likely given the circumstances, my friend,” Harry replied with a slightly nervous chuckle.

 

“Maybe yeah, maybe no. Never can tell, can ya?”

 

“ **A-TEN-SHUN!** ”

 

Both stepped into line and snapped to attention along with every other soldier in their outfit – the disguised Míriel brothers’ included – as the new King of Gondor entered the courtyard. Harry carefully kept his whole profile turned forward, even while his gaze drifted slightly to focus on the approaching king.

 

Turambar was tall and broad shouldered. His movements were graceful, not quite like an elf’s but still not lacking in the economical grace of a ready warrior. His coloring told his heritage, even if his perfectly proportioned features – elf-like beneath the beard – did not. His hair was dark black, like all Dúnedain, but noticeably darker than the dark-black uniform he and all the other officers wore. The dark black uniform emphasized his silver eyes, eyes like Elrond’s, who was the twin-brother of Turambar’s far-off forefather. He had other elf traits too, his mouth was elegantly curved, his nose straight and his forehead high but not overbearing. His face also had stubborn lines, and there was seriousness about it that truly befit a king. Harry also liked the laugh lines he could see around the young king’s eyes, not quite hidden by the dark circles underneath the silver orbs, showing all the world how little sleep the king had had of late. Though the more observant would be able to see that exhaustion in his very air and the set of his strong, but weary shoulders.

 

“Yer Majesty,” Sergeant Dravis saluted the king in the Gondorian fashion – a fist over his heart rather than the open palm the elf-nations used – and bowed. “May I presen’ the new regiment of soldiers to enter Gondor’s service?”

 

“You may, Sergeant,” the King replied, his voice distinctly deeper and his speech more refined, educated than the lieutenant’s, “and each may approach in his turn to offer what pledges he will.” This was obviously a rather run-of-the-mill meeting for the young king, but one that he was making a point of keeping his attention present and focused for.

 

With the king’s permission granted, Sergeant Dravis began introducing each of the soldiers in turn, listing their accomplishments as they stepped forward to kneel before their king, going silent as each offered their pledge and said pledge was graciously accepted.

 

The sons of Hames, as the newest recruits, were the last to be recalled, and ‘Hadrian’ was called as the very last because he was listed as the youngest of the three. The king complimented both of his ‘brother’s’ on their accomplishments, offering both commissions as officers, which clearly surprised many of the older soldiers, but both declined, stating that they wished only to remain with their brother, which the king was quick to realize was the one whom he had not been introduced to until Harry was finally called.

 

“And last of the new regiment is Hadrian, youngest son of Hames, who entered the service three weeks past on twenty-forth of April*.” (1)

 

Harry moved to the front of the regiment and took a knee with easy grace, though the position was not one he was familiar with. “Your Majesty,” he greeted the king, bowing his head slightly, before raising his eyes to meet the somewhat surprised king’s once more.

 

“Guardsman Hadrian,” the king nodded in return, raising a speculative eyebrow at him. “I don’t suppose you are willing to accept the commission your brothers’ would not?”

 

“I come to Gondor to learn, Your Majesty.” Harry replied quietly, though his words seemed to echo through the quiet courtyard even over to where a number of curious courtiers had congregated to watch. “To learn what I may and help those I can. To that extent, I am yours to command.”

 

If anything the young king looked even more surprised, and was eyeing the supposedly ‘younger’ man speculatively. “That that was not a no to the commission.”

 

“No, Your Majesty, it was not.” Harry replied, resigned to the fact that it looked strange enough that his ‘brothers’ were not accepting commissions, that they expected him to and that not only would he get an earful from his parents if he refused, but that it would be an insult the young king might unfortunately remember.

 

The King nodded, his expression now neutral as he replied. “Then your brothers’ will follow you to your command, though they would not accept one themselves. I accept your fealty, son of Hames, as it is. And I vow to return each fealty with fealty, each honor with honor, throughout the whole of my reign.” So saying, he drew his sword from it’s sheath over his shoulder and brought was side to rest on ‘Hadrian’s’ shoulder, before moving it to rest on the other. “I dub thee a Captain of Gondor,” he intoned, ignoring the surprise this brought to the faces of almost all around them. “Now rise, Captain, and take command of your Company.”

 

Dutifully, Harry rose, schooling his own surprise back behind a shield of neutral calmness even as he drew a lifetime of training in leadership around him like a cloak, squaring his shoulders even as he bowed slightly. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

 

~ * **_Minas Anor, Gondor - Nárië 22, 541_** * ~

 

That was not the last time ‘Hadrian’ encountered Gondor’s king. King Turambar was constantly inspecting the troops, watching training sessions, sometimes sparring himself, occasionally just socializing with the men. And as an officer, one of the few Turambar himself had sworn in, ‘Captain Hadrian’ was expected to meet with the other officers – and the king – on a fairly regular basis.

 

Harry was fairly sure he’d served the purpose the king had expected of him, though. Though the ‘older’ officers had been a bit wary of his supposed inexperience at first, they’d soon come to respect him for both his evident skill in combat and his startling insight in tactics. Thus they came to accept their king’s first unanticipated appointment, thereby accepting their new king in yet another way they had not before.

 

There were many bonuses to being an officer. For one thing, though his past was occasionally questioned, most ignored it as this was a time when soldiers were desperately needed in Gondor and being drawn in from all over. A few comments about having actually _met_ some of ‘the fair folk’ before – northern Hollin is quite close to Rivendell, after all – and most of the mystery around there past was coupled with that. For another, though he outranked the man that had originally recruited him – and it had taken Sergeant Dravis a good few beers and one good trouncing in a sparring session to get over that – thankfully his obvious skill and intelligence mostly kept the other soldiers from being uncomfortable or resentful with him. The fact that he had actually made it into the army after only three weeks of training merited some credit, in their minds, and he _was_ a good commanding officer. Also, though he had little trouble associating with the nobility, as far as his men knew he was not one of them, and that meant he was _far_ more approachable then any of the captains that were awarded their ranks upon arrival simply because they were the son of some lord or another.

 

On the other hand, his rank did have some down sides. One of which was that he was invited to just about every function in both Minas Anor _and_ Osgiliath, and unless he had something important to national security to handle at the time or was scheduled for patrol or something similar, he was expected to attend. His ‘brothers’, as they were only common soldiers and soon after as his lieutenants, did not _have_ to though they occasionally did.

 

So here he was, in the formal officers’ uniform, the white tree emblazoned across his chest, in the halls of one of the lords’ of Gondor’s city-homes, forced to socialize with Gondor’s elite at their best – and their worst. Some were pleasant enough, but the conversations truly tended to bore him, too many ladies wanted to dance with him – as his elven tutelage ensured he was a very skilled dancer – and too many politicians wanted him to commit to their causes, most without really telling him what said causes _were_. He’d hoped that the more observant ladies would spread the news when they noticed the wedding band on his finger – and many had commented on it, for it was a work of art – but that didn’t seem to keep any from wanting to dance with him, quite the contrary, it just gave them something to ask about. Though, truthfully, he didn’t mind talking about his ‘Raina’ – the name he addressed Ránewen by via their weekly messages – then any of the other topics they might choose.

 

“You puzzle me, my friend.”

 

With a start, Harry was drawn out of his musings to find the window seat next to him now occupied by the very man that often occupied most of his thoughts these days. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, half bowing as he rose to give a more proper bow only to be waved back into his seat.

 

“No, no, don’t bother with any of that. If you start bowing too much, everyone will know where I am!”

 

Not entirely succeeding in suppressing his smirk of amusement, Harry offered a nod of compliance. “As you wish, my lord.”

 

“Well, I suppose ‘my lord’ will draw less attention,” King Turambar nodded his approval, before leaning back in his seat slightly to scrutinize the ‘young’ officer once more. “As I said, you are quite a puzzle, my friend.”

 

“A puzzle, my lord?” Harry asked, his tone curious. He knew exactly what the observant man was looking for, but did not feel overly inclined to tell him anything, oath or not. He’d actually never sworn to be _honest_ with this king, nor had he sworn entirely to his service, with good reasons.

 

“Yes,” Turambar shook his head. “Most young officers your age would be doing everything they could to catch the eye of a wealthy young lady or merchant’s daughter. But you do everything to make sure they notice the wedding band you wear. A wedding band that I can’t see a peasant ever being able to afford. Aside from that, most of the officers that aren’t looking to marry – usually because they’re already wed – spend their time dancing with the politicians to increase their own power, then they turn to drinking games. You avoid the ladies and the politicians, and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you even slightly intoxicated.”

 

“I would think it would be their behavior that would be frowned upon, my lord.”

 

“What, drinking?” the king asked, then shrugged when he received a nod in reply. “Well, certainly, if they’re on duty or in council the next morning, but most are not.” He raised an eyebrow, “And what of your wedding band, my young friend?”

 

“What of it, my lord?”

 

“How did you or your lady come to afford such a treasure? Elf-made, I believe?”

 

“It is,” Harry confirmed, then shook his head. “I have met many elves from Rivendell.”

 

“So you’ve said, but I can’t quite grasp how you got such a gift from them. My best guess is that you won the hand of some young lady in Hollin who’s family could afford such a thing, but if that were the case you should have entered this city as a recognized noble.”

 

Harry shook his head, a bit to quickly probably, his eyes turning to the dancers out on the floor for a moment before returning to the young King’s curious gaze. “No. But the elves of Rivendell are very generous, and—”

 

“They just _gave_ you your wedding bands?” the King interrupted, skepticism ringing clearly through his tone.

 

“Yes, actually,” Harry replied, relieved the king had worded it as he had. For the smiths in Rivendell _had_ given them their wedding rings freely, because he was the heir of the Golden Wood and brother to the Lady of Rivendell, not that he could tell Turambar that.

 

“Huh,” For several moments Turambar still looked skeptical before he shook his head, shrugging as he brought his goblet of beer up to his mouth for a sip before continuing. “Well, I can’t say I’ve had too many dealings with Elves. My father spoke well of them, but I’ve yet to correspond much with any. Though I believe all of the Elven rulers recognized my sovereignty over Gondor and lamented my father’s death.”

 

Harry nodded, that was to be expected after all. As he watched the king take another sip of beer he fervently hoped Turambar had not had too much of the brew this night, because he wasn’t sure how he’d handle a drunk king...

 

“How old are you, Hadrian?”

 

Startled, Harry brought his attention back to the present and searched around for a suitable answer – he couldn’t very well say ‘444 this July,’ now could he? “I – my birthday is next month.”

 

“Is it? Well I’ll have to make note of that. Though if we’re on the march I’m not likely to remember the exact day. When is it?”

 

“The day before yours, sire.”

 

Now Turambar started, “Truly? Well then, I have no cause not to remember it, though at least if I forget it shall be no more than a day late!”

 

“That is true,” Harry agreed with a smile. “Though you need not bother remembering, my lord. I’m sure you have much more important things to worry about.”

 

“Nonsense,” the King shook his head. “Friends take care to remember such things. Besides, it’s much more interesting then the merchants worries over trade with Dol Amroth or Rohan.” He raised an eyebrow at ‘Hadrian’s’ expression of barely hidden surprise. “I do hope I can count you as a friend as well as an officer, Captain?”

 

Harry blinked, before quickly replying. “Of course, my lord.”

 

Turambar nodded, “Then call me by my name, my friend. Save rank and titles for ceremonies and the like.”

 

“...Yes, S—Turambar.”

 

Nodding his approval, Turambar took another sip of beer before inquiring, “Well what of your lady, then?”

 

“My wife?”

 

“Yes, why is she not here?” the King demanded, before apparently realizing his tone was far more forceful then it needed to be and shrugging apologetically. “Most officers’ wives would be eager to seek sanctuary within Minas Anor’s walls or amusement in Gondor’s capital.”

 

Harry was quiet for a few seconds, considering his response before he offered, “I’m afraid my Raina does not much care for city-life.”

 

Turambar raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of beer. “Most country-born do not, but they all seem to get used to it rather quickly.”

 

Harry smiled, shaking his head. “Perhaps, but Raina is quite happy where she is.”

 

“Truthfully?” When Harry nodded Turambar shook his head, “Honestly that makes me want to meet her all the more. Such a lady is a rare find indeed.”

 

Harry nodded in agreement, “I could ask her to visit, if you wish it, my l-friend.”

 

“No, no... well perhaps in the future,” the King told him, “after the war’s over. It’d be a waste to call her now when we likely won’t be here for many more weeks.”

 

Harry started slightly, surprised. The officers debates in the last council session had put the army’s departure at least six months off. “Weeks, my lord? I had thought it decided we’d be here at least until the new year.”

 

“Oh we’re back to titles now, are we, Captain?”

 

“S-sorry, Sir, I mean – Turambar.”

 

“No harm done... but yes. A year is what the older officers wanted,” Turambar confirmed, draining the last of his beer before continuing. “But I tire of all this preparing and stopping. We’re as ready now as we will be a year from now.” He raised an eyebrow at ‘Captain Hadrian,’ “I believe you said so yourself in the last council session?”

 

“I did,” Harry confirmed with a nod, somewhat surprised the king remembered his comment, as it had been quickly overruled by several senior officers. “But the general consensus seemed opposed.”

 

“So it was, at the time. But the final decision is mine, and after reviewing the army today and conversations with allies in the last few days, I’ve decided to overrule the others.”

 

After a short pause, Harry nodded and rose with a bow. “If that is so, my lord, I should tell my men.”

 

Turambar nodded. “If you wish, Captain. I will be making the general announcement tomorrow evening in council, I’d prefer it not become common knowledge before then, but your lieutenants are all quite discrete, I believe.”

 

“They are, my lord.”

 

“Then go tell them what you will, Captain,” Turambar ordered, raising his goblet again only to find it empty. “And I will see you in council tomorrow, my friend.”

 

“Until then, Your Majesty,” Harry agreed, offering a proper bow before departing. All the while wondering what it was that had made the King of Gondor seek out his friendship. He hadn’t stood out _that_ much, had he?

 

~ * **_Somewhere in Dagorlad - Cermië 31, 541_** * ~

 

‘ _Happy Birthday, ion nîn._ ’

 

Harry stopped pulling random items out of bottomless trunk – only to toss them back it after deciding they were what he was looking for – and smiled as his foster-mother’s gentle greeting echoed through his head. Though the Míriels’ would certainly offer him their well-wishes come morning, it was very much like Galadriel to remember how often he’d stay up late on the eve of his birthday, just to greet the first few moments.

 

‘ _Hannon le, Nana,_ ’ he returned, letting his pleasure at her early greeting flow through their connection. {Thank you, Mom}

 

Her telepathic words held equal warmth in return. ‘ _Your father also sends his greetings. As does your wife. And your sister along with Elrond, the twins and Arwen._ ’

 

‘ _Please give them my thanks,_ ’ Harry replied.

 

‘ _I shall,_ ’ Galadriel agreed, going quiet for a moment before asking. ‘ _How are you, Elerossë?_ ’

 

Harry sighed, glad it was so late and that his rank ensured him a private tent for this silent conversation to take place in. His quarters might be a bit cramped, but at least he wouldn’t have his men questioning his sanity in the following days. ‘ _I am well, Nana. Surely you’ve received my letters?_ ’

 

‘ _We have. Though their frequency had lessened since your departure from Minas Anor._ ’ Galadriel’s serene mental voice was, as always, very difficult to read, but he thought she sounded a bit sad.

 

Shaking his head as he continued to shuffle through his trunk while offering in reply, ‘ _It was a bit easier to write and send mail when we weren’t on the march._ ’

 

‘ _Understandably._ ’

 

‘ _Are you looking for something, ion nîn?_ ’

 

‘ _Yes. Turambar’s birthday is on the morrow. As I’ve accepted his friendship, I figured I should give him something. I just don’t know what... You’d think a bottomless having a bottomless trunk full of centuries of junk would have something useful in._ ’ Harry finished, shaking his head as he pulled a rather ugly tin cup out of the trunk, trying to remember where it was from and why he still had it even as he tossed it back into the trunk Bill Weasley had given him as a birthday present so long ago.

 

‘ _Something simple is probably best._ ’ Galadriel suggested, and Harry was certain this time that he could detect more than a little amusement in her thoughts.

 

Nonetheless he nodded in agreement, and after a few moments silence, he sighed. ‘ _Truthfully it’s been rather boring lately. We’ve received little news from the East, so our enemies are not very active as of late and all we do all day is march, with only a brief break for lunch and then supper after we stop and set camp for the night._ ’

 

‘ _You will be nearing the border soon, though, will you not?_ ’

 

‘ _Supposedly in a few days time, so long as the weather holds clear and no problems arise among the troops._ ’

 

‘ _That is good, I suppose._ ’

 

‘ _It’s what I came here for._ ’

 

‘ _Yes._ ’ After a few more moments of silence, Galadriel asked. ‘ _And what of your new friend? The King of Gondor sought your friendship?_ ’

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, ‘ _Yes, he did,_ ’ then he shrugged. ‘ _Truthfully I do not see him all that more often than before. He is courteous as always, and expresses some more interest in my personal history than before, but that is to be expected._ ’

 

‘ _It is._ ’ Galadriel agreed, before continuing – almost – hesitantly. ‘ _If your are to truly be his friend, it will make concealing your past rather difficult._ ’

 

Harry started slightly. ‘ _Are you giving me leave to reveal it?_ ’ he asked, for he’d already realized what she was referring to, and it did bother him but he could see no way around it.

 

‘ _No. So long as so many enemies abound, it would not be safe and I will not have you place yourself in unnecessary danger. Nor should you wish to, if you truly intend to fulfill your destiny in your birth world._ ’

 

Harry sighed, ‘ _Yes, I—_ ’

 

A noise from just outside his tent startled him, and he turned to see the very man he’d been discussing with his foster mother standing there.

 

“Still awake, Hadrian?”

 

Harry rose smoothly with a slight bow, following the young king’s lead once again to set the tone for the meeting. “I am, my friend. Though I am rather surprised you are.” Silently he bid Galadriel farewell. ‘ _I’m sorry, Nana._ ’

 

‘ _Don’t be, ion nîn. We shall speak again soon. Take care._ ’

 

Bringing his full focus back to the present, he met the young king’s tired but smiling eyes as the last of the man’s chuckles rumbled out.

 

“I suppose it is odd for me to be awake at this hour.” Turambar conceded. “I was reviewing some of the eastern maps earlier and lost track of the time. What’s your excuse?”

 

Harry laughed. “Long-standing tradition of mine, I’m afraid. I’m never able to go to sleep on the eve of my birthday till it actually arrives.”

 

“Ah, well, happy birthday then. I do hope the lack of sleep will not leave your too weary for the day itself?”

 

“It never has before, my l—friend.” With a slight shake of his head, Harry frowned. “I’m sorry, I’ve completely forgotten my manners it seems. Please,” He gestured to the chair he’d been occupying a moment before and quickly drew another out from his pack. “Would you like water or wine?”

 

Gracefully accepting the chair, Turambar’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You actually have wine?” he asked, surprised as most soldiers could hardly afford to carry any of the more expensive alcohol around and therefore generally carried only some beer, and even that would generally be gone by now as they’d been marching for several weeks already.

 

Harry nodded, drawing a bottle out of his – bottomless be enchantment – pack. “Yes, from Rivendell.”

 

“ _Elvish_ wine?” Turambar shook his head. “Well, I can hardly refuse that. How ever did you come by it?”

 

Harry chuckled, offering the response he’d given to many such questions whenever the king expressed too much interest in his history. “The elves of Rivendell are very generous by nature, my friend.”

 

Turambar rolled his eyes at the near custom phrase. “Well how has it lasted so long, then? I know you are not prone to drinking all that much, but such a brew would not last long among most.”

 

Harry shrugged as he finally found the goblets he’d been looking for his pack and began filling them. “I take water with most meals. I generally only drink a bit of this on nights I have trouble sleeping, and my rest has mostly been peaceful as of late.”

 

“Thank you,” Turambar nodded politely as he accept the full goblet he was offered. “Well, that’s good then, I suppose.” Taking a sip, he shook his head. “Clearly you have far more self-restraint than I. This would not last long in my tent, I can tell you. March or no.”

 

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “I am sure my lord exaggerates.”

 

Turambar laughed. “Hardly! Alcohol has never really affected by judgment and I always recover quickly so I’ve never had a need to restrain myself, I’m afraid. I’ve drunken many of my men under in the past.”

 

Harry shook his head again, still chuckling. “I can believe that,” he replied, remembering the warnings he’d received from some of the younger officers about drinking with the king early on in his commission. Also well aware that this was probably another lasting affect of his distant elven fore-father, as he’d seen in the past just how much alcohol it took to get an elf slightly buzzed, let alone drunk, and he’d never seen one hung over. It had been fortunate for him on a number of occasions that his magic – combined with Galadriel and Celeborn’s blood adoption – gave him nearly just as much resistance. Though he did need to be careful after using a large amount of magic, as he was much more susceptible to intoxication then. Smirking slightly at the thought, he raised an eyebrow. “So what is it that has kept you at your maps so late into the night, my friend?”

 

Now the king sighed. “Needless fretting, no doubt. But I suppose war should never be easy on the conscious in any of its stages.”

 

“You said yourself not too long ago that we are as ready as we can be.”

 

“Yes,” Turambar agreed, taking another deep sip of his wine before sighing. “But I worry nonetheless.”

 

Harry also took a sip of wine before replying. “That only proves you all the more worthy of your title, Sire,” he offered, silently struggling to project calmness and certainty towards the young king’s mind as his foster mother had taught him to do. It was easier than it had once been, but still difficult to do well while concentrating on anything else... such as a conversation. “Truthfully I would be worried if you did not worry for your men.”

 

“That is true,” Turambar conceded, finishing off the wine in his goblet with one long goblet and nodding thankfully when ‘Hadrian’ took it from him to refill. After taking another sip of the wine he sighed, shaking his head. “I had thought we’d have seen signs of them, or run into their scouts, at least, by now.”

 

Harry nodded in understanding, taking another small sip of his wine before replying. “Understandable. The last battle with them was around here, was it not?”

 

“Yes...” Turambar confirmed with a sigh. “My father died not far from here.”

 

Harry said nothing in response to that, only bowed his head slightly and raised his goblet in a small, respectful salute before taking another sip.

 

“I always knew I would one day be king, of course.” Turambar confessed with a sigh, shaking his head sadly. “I just never thought it would be so soon... so sudden.” After another sip he continued. “Technically I was legally of age to rule long ago,” he shook his head ruefully, “Even Atanatar is of age in that regard, but... my father was the _East-victor_... I never thought I might loose him to the very thralls which he’d triumphed so greatly over in his youth.”

 

“One never expects the loss of a parent, my friend.” Harry offered quietly. “It is not something we want to expect, after all. Any death in battle, or in general, is never welcome, but is nonetheless accepted.”

 

“Hmph,” Turambar nodded, “True.” He took another sip of his wine, smiling ruefully as he offered another confession. “I probably should not have forced Atanatar to stay behind with his mother and sister, but I could not bear the thought of loosing him, too.”

 

“It was the right thing to do, regardless. As he is not yet wed and has no heirs.”

 

“Yes, but he is likely to be rather cross with me for some time.” He shook his head again as he took another sip of wine. “I feel bad for my dear Lindethiél, as she’ll no doubt be suffering much of his moods while maintaining the court in my absence.”

 

Harry chuckled slightly, “I’ve no doubt your queen shall rise to the challenge quite admirably, my friend. You did not wed a mere wallflower.”

 

“True,” Turambar conceded, smiling. Then shook his head again. “It makes me wonder how you can bear being so far from your lady for so long, my friend.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Indeed! My thoughts must turn to Lindethiél or one of my children a dozen times a day, and I only just left their presence a few short weeks ago. You have not seen your Raina in many months, have you not?”

 

“No,” Harry conceded, allowing some of the melancholy of the thought to enter his voice. “We keep in touch by letter, though.”

 

“Yes, I have seen your falcon. An intriguing concept, though I can not for the life of me imagine how you managed to train him. I know the elves communicate with birds as messengers, but I had thought those were doves or pigeons.”

 

“They are,” Harry confirmed with a shrug. “But falcons are far faster and much less likely to fall to some predator while in route.”

 

Turambar laughed, “I suppose so. And he does always return quickly, does he not? I see you send him off almost every week.” At ‘Hadrian’s’ nod he remarked, “I suppose he aptly named then, ‘Horta’ is elvish for ‘Speed,’ is it not?”

 

“It is.”

 

“Hmph, very apt. How _did_ you train him, anyway?”

 

“The el—”

 

“Why would the elves of Rivendell give you a messenger bird the likes of which they do not even use?”

 

Harry let a little bit of annoyance seep into his face to hide the amusement he was feeling. “The elves did not _give_ Horta to me, they only _helped_ train him. Raina has several more with her at home, I could send for one, if you like?”

 

“How ever would it find us? How does your Horta find us anyway?”

 

Harry shrugged, “Falcons are very smart birds. They’re cousins to the great eagles, after all. But if you want a falcon to write home with, we’d have to send it to Minas Anor or Osgiliath first and then have it brought out to you, so that it would have an idea of the distance and places.” * (AN: I have no idea as to how messenger-birds work in real-life, I’m basing most of this on the idea that the elves can communicate with animals very well and that the HP wizards tamed owls so falcons shouldn’t be much more difficult as they can be trained by Muggles for hunting anyway. I picked falcons because (1) I thought that’d be neat and (2), owls would stand out even more, too much for Harry to be using them, I mean, they’re not even supposed to be out during the day!)

 

Turambar shrugged, “It’s a thought. If we’re out here long I would like to look into it, but as we haven’t even seen any of the Easterlings yet I’d rather not get ahead of myself.”

 

“Of course,” Harry conceded, “but the offer shall remain open.”

 

“Thank you, my friend,” Turambar replied before draining his cup a second time and setting it aside, shaking his head when ‘Hadrian’ raised the wine bottle in askance. “We should both, undoubtedly, retire. I’ve no doubt that if I made the mistake of actually enjoying myself on the eve of my birthday we’ll be attacked on the day of.”

 

Harry laughed, shaking his head as he drained his own goblet. “I suppose so, Sire. Good night.”

 

“Good night, my friend. I shall see you in the morning.”

 

“Perhaps we will review your maps more thoughtfully then.”

 

That drew a small laugh from the king, as he rose, “Perhaps. Good night, my friend.”

 

“Good night,” Harry repeated, rising with him and offering a respectful bow as the king of Gondor turned to leave the tent.

 

At the exit, Turambar paused, shaking his head and turning back with a small smile. “Before I forget, as I unfortunately may on the march: happy birthday, my friend.”

 

Harry bowed again, “Thank you, my friend.” As he rose, he was surprised to see a small, sheathed dagger held out to him in the king’s hand. “My lord?”

 

“It is a gift, my friend. One which you should undoubtedly get much use from,” Turambar told him, rolling his eyes as he placed it in ‘Hadrian’s’ hands. “It’s a custom we have here in Gondor, you see. You get gifts on your birthday.”

 

Harry laughed, “It is the same where I am from, my friend. I just...” Harry shook his head, looking down at the dagger that he could almost conceal in one fist, though it was a little too long. He drew it out of the sheath, blinking in surprise as his mind made a connection between the fine silvery metal of the blade, its very sharp edges and very little weight. “Mithril?”

 

“Indeed.” Turambar confirmed, gesturing to his right wrist as he continued. “I have one myself. Awful useful little thing, and very convenient.”

 

Harry nodded, sheathing the dagger once more before efficiently trying the wrist sheath to its proper place on his right wrist. “I’m sure it will be. Thank you, my friend.”

 

“Happy birthday,” Turambar said in reply, “and good night.”

 

“Wait.” Harry called, making Turambar turn and watch curiously as he reached into his trunk once more, careful not to reach too far while he mentally summoned the object he sought, all the while moving it around as though searching. When it finally reached his hand he rose and presented the object to the king. “Just in case the morrow brings too many distractions, please accept this now, my friend.”

 

Accepting the item, a small flask, Turambar uncorked it and sniffed, raising an eyebrow. “More Elvish wine?”

 

Harry shook his head. “Not wine. Miruvor. An Elven draught that will renew strength and energy. Though I wouldn’t try it now, it should come in handy in the future.”

 

“I have heard of it,” Turambar nodded, not asking the questions that filled his curious gaze, but instead nodding in thanks. “Thank you, my friend.”

 

“You’re most welcome, my friend. Happy birthday, and good night.”

 

“Good night.”

 

The king then left, leaving Harry impressed by the thoughtfulness the younger royal had shown in the small but useful gift, which he must have had made before they left Minas Anor several weeks ago, not long after the king had first learned when his birthday was...

 

~ * **_Caras Galadon, Lothlórien – Súlìmë 26, 542_** * ~

 

Harry smiled as the familiar feel of the Golden Wood washed over him once more. Had he not known where the portkey he’d created was taking him beforehand he would have known where he was upon arrival – even before his mother’s telepathic welcome reached him... He was home.

 

“ _Elerossë!_ ”

 

Surprised at the sudden impact of his wife’s slight form, Harry wasn’t even able to keep his feet and fell over onto his back, with his excited wife on top of him. The familiar laughter of his parents mixed with that of the bodyguards that had accompanied them as well as a few other elves, though he could not see them.

 

Harry smiled as he wrapped his arms around his wife, returning her hug gently even as he ignored the slight twinge the many actions draw from the wound on his right shoulder.

 

That was how he came to be here, a scratch from a poisoned arrow won him a few weeks of unexpected but highly welcome leave. Plenty of time for him to sneak away and use the portkey he’d created some time before to visit home.

 

Figuring he should rise and meet the others that were waiting to greet him, Harry squeezed his arms around his wife for one more moment before pushing her back slightly, brushing her long, slightly perfumed, black locks back from her face to meet her shining purple eyes. “Suilaid, melda nîn.” {Greetings, my love.}

 

“Suilaid, verno nîn,” Ránewen murmured in reply, a bright smile lighting up her entire face with joy even as she made no effort whatsoever to get up. {Greetings, my husband.}

 

“ _I certainly will not contest your claim to Elerossë, dear Ránewen,_ ” Lord Celeborn’s voice cut in, warm with good humor, “ _but might we not also welcome him home?_ ”

 

Ránewen sighed before she gracefully pushed herself up, nodding in thanks at the hand her husband offered to help her rise as she replied. “ _If you must,_ herunîn _._ ” {my lord}

 

As Harry also rose his eyes were still focused on his wife’s happy face, so he was quite surprised when she turned to tuck herself comfortably under his arm and thereby allowed him to see just how many people were waiting for him. Not only were his foster parents and what might very well be every one of the Galadhrim awaiting his arrival, but his sister had come with much of her family as well as a number of elves from Imladris, it seemed. Shaking away the slight surprise after a moment’s pause, Harry offered them a bright smile. “Hannon le a thoel,” he offered, bowing his head to the crowd in general before focusing on his family specifically. {Thank you all for coming.}

 

“Mae govannen, ion nîn.” {Well-met, my son.}

 

Drawn to the Lady of Light first and foremost by her greeting, Harry smiled. “Suilaid, Naneth,” he replied warmly, pulling away from Ránewen for a short moment to hug his foster-mother before his wife latched onto his arm again. {Greeting, Mother.}

 

From there he greeted his father, then his sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephews. Followed by his wife’s uncles, and countless other elves that were eager to see him again. After thanking them all for greeting him again he was allowed to retire to his home telain with his wife and his parents following.

 

Once they were inside he shot his parents a puzzled glance, “ _What was that all about?_ ”

 

“ _What_ , ion nîn?”

 

“ _Why does everyone seem so effected by my return, I certainly wasn’t gone long be Elven standards._ ”

 

His parents exchanged small smiles, both shaking their heads as Celeborn replied. “ _You were away at war,_ ion nîn _._ _Not merely exploring the wonders of Middle Earth. Your people worry for you._ ” He gestured to the barely visible bandaging around Harry’s shoulder, “ _What’s more, you’re only able to visit because you received a wound a mortal would need some time to recuperate from. Elrond will want to see that in the morning, by the way._ ”

 

“ _But... I’m fine! It’s just a small scratch. My magic and the elven traits I inherited from you in the blood ritual when you formally adopted me completely neutralized it. It’ll be completely healed in a few days. It probably won’t even leave a scar._ ”

 

“ _That doesn’t matter,_ ion nîn,” Galadriel replied before her husband could. “ _The prince of the Galadhrim was injured in battle. It is not something the Galadhrim react well too... seeing that you are well with their own eyes is the very least you must allow them in such circumstance._ ”

 

Harry shook his head, still frowning. “ _I don’t mean to worry anyone, the three of you, Celebrían, Elrond and the little ones least of all... But I am learning much from this experience, I think._ ” He told them, his voice firm as he continued. “ _I am going back when my leave is up in a little over three weeks._ ”

 

Galadriel nodded gently, despite the protest her husband clearly wanted to voice, only saying, “ _If that is your choice,_ ion nîn _, so be it._ ”

 

“ _Surely you have learned what you sought to already,_ ion nîn _?_ ” Celeborn demanded, all but ignoring the overly firm grip his wife had on his arm.

 

“ _I have learned much,_ Ada _, but the war’s not over yet. And I mean to see it through, at the very least. Till Gondor wins or retreats._ ”

 

Celeborn shook his head, his voice weary as he protested. “ _That may take decades,_ ion nîn _. Will you really live amongst them and endanger yourself for them for so long?_ ” Seeing the stubborn set of his son’s face, he shook his head again, a bit sadly. “ _And how will you conceal the fact that you do not age? I don’t believe your_ glamours _are set for that._ ”

 

Harry nodded, “ _They are not. But if it becomes necessary I will fix it. It shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out, and I certainly have time._ ”

 

“ _Indeed, he does,_ ” Ránewen confirmed, still smiling though now a bit impatiently. “ _But we have many more days available for this discussion and my husband should be resting._ ”

 

Both the lord and lady of the Golden Wood laughed, first at their daughter-in-law’s all too apparent annoyance and then the clear surprise on their son’s face.

 

“ _Very well,_ ien nîn _, we shall leave Elerossë in your capable hands._ ” Galadriel agreed with a warm smile, moving forward to hug her son once more and place a kiss on his brow, then stepping back to wait for her husband to also embrace their young one before exiting the telain. {my daughter}

 

Harry then turned to his wife with an eyebrow raised, “ _Oh, I should be resting, should I? When it’s not yet even mid-day?_ ”

 

“ _You probably should,_ ” Ránewen confirmed, a coy smile replacing the irritation that had marred her fair features a few seconds before. “ _I ordered lunch for us on the terrace, that shouldn’t be too tiring, no? After that I certainly wouldn’t be against spending the afternoon in bed, though I do hope you aren’t too tired, are you?_ ”

 

“Uh-um, _no! No, of course not!_ ”

 

“ _Good,_ ” Ránewen approved, her bright smile lighting up her fair face as she drew her husband out onto the terrace for the first lunch they’d have had together in well over a year.

 

~ * **_Caras Galadon, Lothlórien – Súlìmë 27, 542_** * ~

 

Harry winced as his brother-in-law poked at the partially-healed scratch a poisoned Easterling arrow had made atop his right shoulder some days past.

 

Luckily the wound was shallow, as the poison might have been far more dangerous if it had reached one of his major arteries and entered his bloodstream before his magic could burn it out. From what he understood – Hermione’s Tomb could only cover so much of magical theory for various practices, and it stood to reason that Hogwarts’ library would not have an overly extensive amount of literature for researching healing when the art was not taught there but in apprenticeships after students graduated from Hogwarts – but from what he understood the instinctive healing his magic was capable of worked far more easily on flesh and muscle than it would on blood because the blood was meant to be a conductor, thus it took natural magic a little more time to recognize threats in the blood itself.

 

Unluckily, the mere existence of a wound, of any wound upset his family greatly. There was a reason he hadn’t told any of the elves of the few occasions he’d been injured a bit less severely in combat, always going to great lengths to ensure that neither of the Míriel brothers reported it. Actually, if Turambar hadn’t seen the arrow fly by him when Harry had knocked the young king out of the way of said projectile and then seen the small, poisoned wound itself, Harry probably wouldn’t have mentioned it at all. But he had, so ‘Hadrian’ had been all but bullied into taking a much need break. “ _Truly, my brother, I am fine. There’s no need to fret._ ”

 

“ _Your definition of ‘fine,’ little brother,_ ” Elrond replied firmly, his eyes still focused on the wound he was inspecting as he continued to poke at it, “ _is anywhere from a little over-tired to nearly dead. And thus not acceptable._ ”

 

“ _It is n—Oww! Stop that!_ ”

 

“ _I apologize, young prince. But it is necessary to determine the full extent of the injury._ ”

 

“ _Elrond, I have the utmost respect for your abilities as a healer, b—Owe!_ ” Harry glared at his sister’s husband, as offended by the unnecessary jab as he was by the barely hidden smirk on the Peredhil’s features.

 

“ _Then please sit quietly and let me do my job._ ”

 

“ _But I know enough about healing myself to know that all of this poking is **not** necessary!_ ”

 

“ _Perhaps you will remember this, then, and be more careful in the future._ ”

 

Harry gaped at him, “ _I **am** careful! I was injured in a battle! It happens!_ ”

 

“ _It does. But you can always be more careful._ ” Elrond insisted with an elegant shrug, “ _Or not go at all. The affairs of Gondor are not overly important to the Elvendom._ ”

 

“ _So you’d rather I hadn’t been injured protecting your brother’s descendent?_ ” Harry snapped, then winced as Elrond froze. “ _I am sorry to pain you, Elrond. But Turambar **is** your twin’s descendent, after all. Your kin. And therefore mine. Why should we not want to protect him, at the very least?_ ”

 

Elrond was silent for several moments as he finally decided the scratch was, in fact, clean and poison-free. He drew back to apply an already prepared healing salve to the small wound before he began bandaging it. Then he sighed. “ _I am thankful, for your intervention on his behalf, Elerossë._ ” The elf lord admitted, looking up to meet the younger being’s eyes. “ _But I believe the descendents of Elros lost the right to claim my kinship when Isildur turned his back on the greater good._ ”

 

Harry waited until Elrond had finished bandaging his wound and carefully pulled his tunic on over before catching his brother-in-law by the shoulder. “ _Elves have long memories, I know. But Turambar is not Isildur._ ”

 

“ _Nor is he Elros._ ”

 

“ _No. But he is your kinsman. His long-dead forefather’s failings do not change that._ ”

 

Elrond released another sigh as he finished packing his healing supplies carefully away and shook his head. “ _No. But the memories of Elf-kind are long, and I was there, Elerossë. I watched the strength of the noblest of men – one of Elven descent, a kinsman – I watched his strength fail..._ ”

 

“ _And that hurt._ ” Harry murmured, “ _You felt betrayed._ ”

 

“ _Yes. I did._ ”

 

Harry was quiet for several moments as he carefully stretched his right arm, testing the muscles and the bandages both. When he spoke his voice was barely audible, even to elf-ears. “ _It’s not your fault, you know._ ”

 

“ _Of course I know tha—_ ”

 

“ _And it’s not your brother’s, either._ ”

 

“ _...What?_ ” Elrond shook his head, appearing both mystified and a little angry. “ _Elros died more than three millennia before that battle, of course it wasn’t his fault!_ ”

 

Harry gave no indication of hearing the outburst as he continued. “ _You must have resented him for it... if only just a little._ ”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“ _For choosing a mortal life._ ”

 

Elrond was silent for several moments more, the air around the healers ward unnaturally still as the room’s only two occupants gazes were locked in a silent war of wills. Finally the Peredhil replied quietly, “ _It was his choice._ ”

 

Harry nodded. “ _It was. And you accepted that. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you. He was your brother. Your twin,_ ” he offered silently, reflecting that the pain would have to be immense for such a loss. He knew two pairs of twins, his nephews – Elrond’s own sons – and the Weasley twins, and both pairs relied heavily on one another’s existence as it had always been there. He obviously knew his nephews better than Ron’s brothers, but he still felt the loss of either twin would hurt the other immensely. And thus the loss of Elrond’s, to what was essentially suicide in Elven eyes, must have been terrible.

 

“ _...Perhaps I did._ ” Elrond nodded in quiet agreement, before shaking his head sadly, his silvery eyes unusually dark and distant, focuses on the more morose moments of his past. “ _He was my twin... and he chose to die._ ”

 

“ _He chose the ‘gift of death,’ as the Elf’s call it._ ” Harry murmured. “ _I find it interesting in history to see how Elven people scoff at mankind’s desire to achieve immortality against the Valar’s will, alongside their own immense fear of death. Yet they call it a ‘gift’..._ ” the wizard shook his head. “ _But then, Elf-kind knows the Halls of Mandos await them after death, should they fall in battle, and Valinor welcomes them for eternity. But to choose mortality is to choose a mortal death... and we don’t know what happens to mortal souls when they leave their body._ ”

 

Elrond nodded, “ _Some say mortal souls are as mortal as their bodies, and simply cease to be with death. Others that mortal souls are sent to a different place of rest in the afterlife. Others think they are all continually reborn, as some fallen elves, like Glorfindel are._ ”

 

“ _Yet it is unknown. The next great adventure,_ ” Harry smiled, shaking his head. “ _That’s what my headmaster at the wizard’s school, Dumbledore, called it._ ”

 

_“...I think that is what Elros hoped for,_ ” Elrond nodded, his voice soft in speculation, still sad sounding. “ _It would be like him... He was always one for adventure. And he related so well to the mortal peoples. That is why they made him their king, I think. But I never did understand why he gave up his immortal birthright. I don’t think I ever will._ ”

 

“ _And you miss him._ ”

 

“Uma.” {Yes}

 

“ _Yet you find it too painful to look upon his descendents after Isildur’s betrayal?_ ” Harry guessed. “ _To see bits of him in their faces and forms. To see Isildur, too._ ”

 

“ _Perhaps..._ ” Elrond nodded. “ _But even before that, it was hard. They don’t really think of me as a kinsman, any how. Too many generations have past. The Elven roots of the royal family of Gondor have been all but forgotten... And with time that blood has waned. Their lifetimes have grown briefer, and briefer. Turambar will be lucky if he sees three centuries..._ ” the Elf shook his head. “ _They have so little time to... see anything... or do anything. Though they are strong in their prime, which is still much longer than that of most mortals, the latter half of their lifetime they are most often too old to truly enjoy. Their bodies pain them. Death haunts them._ ”

 

“ _Thus is the gift of mortality, in a way,_ ” Harry nodded again. “ _Did Elros age?_ ”

 

Elrond started, before pausing in thought and shaking his head slightly. “ _Not as such. He grew weaker and wearier with more ease, later in life. His hair turned white, and his skin gained some wrinkles. But he still seemed stronger than most mortals to the very end of his days. He fell ill more often in his later years... And then..._ ” Elrond paused, his eyes misting slightly as he bit back a gulp. “ _And then he just didn’t wake up one day. His great-grandson, Elendil, went to wake him when he’d not appeared by midday._ ”

 

Harry was startled when he felt Elrond’s thoughts drawing him inward...

 

~ * **_Flashback_** \- _In Elrond’s Mind – Late Autumn, 442 S.A._ * ~

 

_Elrond glanced up as Elendil, his great-great-nephew came up to his side, and frowned. “Are you well, iont_ _ôr nin?_ _”_ _{my nephew}_

_Elendil looked up, his silver-gray eyes dark with grief made all the more apparent by his too-pale skin, “_ _Adartôr?_ ” {Uncle}

 

_Elrond’s frown deepened as he rose to his feet and placed a gentle hand on the ‘young’ man’s brow. “Yes, iontôr nîn, it is me. Are you unwell?”_

_“H-He won’t wake up, Adartôr... He...He...”_

_Elrond gently pulled the prince to a bench along the wall, wondering what could have shocked the young man so on his endeavor to rise the king from bed so that they might meet here in the gardens for a very late lunch. “Who won’t wake, iontôr nin?”_

_“D-Daer-Adar. He won’t wake!”_

_All the more troubled as his nephew was clearly nearing hysterics, he started rubbing soothing circles on the young man’s back, something he hadn’t done for a number of years as the man was technically, in the eyes of men at least, grown. “Vardamir is still abed, as well? That is troubling, perhaps they are catching something?”_

_“N-No... Daer-Adar Vardamir i-is in c-council n-now.”_

_“What... You could not wake Elros, then?”_

_“N-No...”_

_“His door was locked, then? He hasn’t been feeling too well as of late, perhaps he is simply trying to sleep it off. I shall try to rise him soon myself, though. Skipping meals won’t help his health at all,” Elrond pointed out with a small smile before turning his attention back to his trembling great-nephew, “But why does that have you so troubled? Elros has slept quite deeply before. You know he can still go into healing trances as all the Eldar can. With the door barred—”_

_“It w-wasn’t barred. I-I c-could open it...”_

_“...And still you could not rise him?” Elrond surmised with an even deeper frown. “That is somewhat troubling, but sometimes our trances are quite deep, and—”_

_“H-He’s n-not in... He’s n-not in a trance...” Elendil murmured, his tone broken and hollow._

_“But you said—”_

_“H-He won’t wake. I-I tried shaking h-him. H-His eyes are c-close. H-He’s c-cold... He w-wouldn’t w-wake... I tried... He won’t wake...”_

_And then Elrond finally understood and he lost all awareness around him as his thoughts spiraled inward, seeking the mental bond he shared with his twin, desperately hoping he was wrong._

_But the bond wasn’t warm anymore. It was cold. And fading. Disappearing. Forever._

_His brother was dead._

_And now Elrond was alone for all eternity._

~ * **_End of Flashback_** * ~

                  

As Harry’s mind came back to the present, he watched awareness returned to Elrond’s troubled, pained eyes.

 

“ _I-I am sorry, Elerossë,_ ” his brother-in-law murmured hurriedly, backing away a few steps as he shook his head. “ _I should not have—_ ”

 

“ _Don’t be ridiculous, Elrond. You’ve nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should be the one apologizing, for invading your mind like that. Though you were projecting..._ ”

 

“ _Y-Yes, I am..._ ”

 

“ _As I said, don’t apologize._ ” Harry cut him off, before gently pointing out. “ _But I would ask that you remember that Turambar, though longer removed, is just as much a descendent of Elros, your brother, as Elendil was. Please don’t hold Isildur’s failure against him._ ”

 

When Elrond said nothing in reply, Harry hoped his message had gotten through as he rose to his feet and left the room to give his brother-in-law some privacy. He nodded to his foster-mother and sister as he exited the healers’ ward, not the least bit surprised to find both of them waiting there, considering how much pain Elrond was still projecting...


	2. Chapter 2

_**Elda Kundu, Kurutar** _

** There And Back Again: Part I – A Wizard’s Tale **

A Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings Crossover

** Turambar – A Friend, A King & A Mortal **

**Part II**

By Jess S

~ * **_Caras Galadon, Lothlórien – Víressë_** **_17, 542_** * ~

 

“ _I have to go back,_ melda nîn,” Harry murmured softly, though making no move to release his wife from the embrace she’d seized him in several moments before. “ _My task is not yet complete. I said I’d see this war through, at the very least._ ”

 

“ _I know..._ ”

 

“ _And now King Turambar is my friend, though I can not be a truly good friend to him with the many secrets I must keep from him, I can, at the very least, keep my promises to him. I won’t desert him._ ” He felt Ránewen’s small, resigned nod against his shoulder.

 

“ _I know you won’t._ ” Ránewen sighed, her whispered words brushing against his neck on the way to his nearest ear. “ _And I would not ask you to._ ”

 

Harry tried to pull away gently, but stopped as he felt his wife’s embrace tighten in response.

 

“ _But that knowledge won’t make this any easier. It still pains me to have you leaving so soon._ ”

 

“ _Time moves quickly_ ,” Harry murmured quietly. “ _You’ve insisted this so many, many times. I will be home again very soon, and I will write to you at least once a week. Hopefully we will be able to talk by mirror with more frequency as well. However,_ ” Now Harry gently, but firmly pushed her just far enough away from him to push her chin up so she could meet his eyes. “ _I want you to promise me that you will find some more ways to pass the time. Continue training with my mother or schooling with my father. Or go to Imladris and spend time with Celebrían, Elrond and the elflings. Elrond might be willing to continue your education as a healer. Whatever you wish to do is up to you, but I won’t have you wallowing in loneliness and boredom. Do you understand?_ ”

 

“ _Yes,_ melda nîn.”

 

“ _And you shall do so?_ ”

 

“ _Yes,_ melda nîn.”

 

“ _On your word?_ ” Harry insisted, half-formed visions of a miserable Ránewen plaguing his mind and encouraging his resolve.

 

Another long sigh escaped Ránewen as she replied, “ _I swear, I shall find at least one way to pass the time with pleasure in your absence, though I shall miss you every day._ ”

 

“ _And I shall miss you, as well._ ” Harry returned, leaning down to catch her lips in a gentle, loving kiss before pulling away again. “Namárië.”

 

“Namárië...”

 

Harry forced a small, reassuring smile onto his face, meeting her tearful eyes for a moment before allowing himself to turn and leave their home once again, all the while praying that he was doing the right thing. He thought he was, but times like this made it difficult to be sure...

 

As strong as his adoptive people – and his wife – were, they were beset by many problems, particularly when other races were involved. The Eldar had learned their lesson long ago when it came to warring amongst themselves, and thus interracial wars were not a problem. But they did come into conflict with the other races of Middle Earth on occasion. And while the ‘free folk’ of Middle Earth – those who had never succumbed to Sauron’s will, and were certainly not a problem as those who had – the intricacies of interracial relations could still be very difficult for the Eldar.

 

Though most Men and Dwarves were aware of the fact that the Elven people were immortal and most had been around for a very long time, few rarely understood what that meant. It meant many things. The Eldar had seen many wonders that most mortals only heard of in fireside stories and legends. And they had seen many tragedies and catastrophes: many wars, many long winters, prejudice, arrogance, and jealousy.

 

And many, many mortals. Their births, their lives and their deaths. Events that all occurred in the span of but a few decades, a measurement of time that was to the Eldar like weeks were to mortals.

 

And through it all the Eldar remained physically unchanged. The only exception to this being in warfare, which could end the life of any one of the Eldar.

 

Thus, in a way, the Eldar feared mortals: fearing attachment to them and the eventual grief they would be certainly feel when that attachment was severed by old age.

 

Though the fears of his Ránewen and his family were undoubtedly focused entirely on him, Elerossë knew that many of his people did not approve of his involvement in this war. For he was one of them, and to lose him would hurt them all. And they did not like the idea of facing that pain for another race that would make no effort to understand them. A race that more often than not chose to see them as magical and untouchable at best, haughty and prideful at worst. A race that did not remember what had come before. Could not remember, as the Eldar did. And therefore was far more likely to make the same mistakes their forefathers had, over and over again. For wisdom came with age, which the Eldar had aplenty and most mortals only knew near the very end of their days.

 

Yet, even knowing all this, Harry knew he had to go. He needed to learn. And he needed to become truly accustom to both fighting alongside _and_ living amongst mortals.

 

He had been a resident of Middle Earth and a fosterling of the Eldar nations for centuries now. He was now one of the Peredhil, a distinction formerly held only by Elrond of Imladris since his brother’s death. But by way of the blood-ritual Celeborn and Galadriel had performed to fully adopt him years ago, Harry had gained the title—and all it entailed—as well. So even should he return to Earth, he would have the same choice as Elrond’s children: mortality or eternity.

 

He was born on Earth, a mortal, and eventually he would need to return to that world...

 

And he had forgotten what it was like to fear death. Days and years had begun to blend together as his mind fully embraced the Eldar’s outlook on life.

 

And that outlook would not work on Earth. Not for fighting Voldemort. It was necessary to keep in mind, as he certainly didn’t want the war with Voldemort to last centuries. If it did, everyone he was trying to save on that world would be dead long before it ended, by Death Eaters or old age, whichever came first.

 

So he knew he was right, and he had to do this.

 

What’s more, now that he recognized Turambar as a friend, he was entitled to the same protection that Harry would give Ron of Hermione back on Earth. So he had to go...

 

Lost in his thoughts, Harry sighed as he finally set a foot on ground at the foot of the tree his telain rested in, and then started, nearly stumbling over the last step when a he was surprised by an inquiry from behind.

 

“Herunîn?”

 

Forcing back his irritation towards himself at his own inattentiveness and the less-graceful-than-normal landing that had resulted from it, Harry turned to answer his parents’ Marchwarden. “ _Yes_ , Haldir?” he inquired, his tone polite despite knowing exactly why the Marchwarden was here.

 

“ _I hope you have reconsidered my offer and have seen reason._ ”

 

Harry began moving down the pathway towards his mother’s mirror, taking a long, deep breath and letting it out before meeting the Marchwarden’s steely gaze. His reply was just pleasant as before, and just as firmly spoken as the Marchwarden himself had been. “ _There is nothing to consider, Haldir. You are needed far more here, for one. And even if that were not the case, you wish to come only to protect me, not to help Gondor. I already have bodyguards. Two of them. You trained and tested the Míriel brothers yourself before they received their commission from my parents._ ”

 

“ _I did,_ herunîn _, but—_ ”

 

“ _Veryan_ _and Voronwë are very good at their job. I received a minor injury in battle, one that I hardly needed rest from but—_ ” He stopped abruptly when Haldir seized his shoulder and forced him to spin slightly around, stopping him in his tracks.

 

“ _You were forced to take some leave in order to avoid suspicions towards your rapid healing,_ ” Haldir finished, his tone flat as he continued. “ _For any mortal the wound would have required many weeks of rest and care._ ”

 

“ _Accidents happen in battle._ ”

 

“ _This was no accident. Your reflexes are too good for that to be so._ ”

 

Harry met Haldir’s eyes for several long moments before he sighed and nodded in agreement. “ _Perhaps,_ ” he offered, before forcefully shrugging off the elder’s hold and moving further down the path, the Marchwarden quickly following.

 

“ _You were protecting someone else._ ”

 

“ _Perhaps,_ ” Harry agreed, well aware of just how little the Eldar – like many other elves – thought of most mortals. And therefore very, very glad the mirror glade was not far from his telain.

 

“ _As a prince of Elvendom you should not take such risks. And certainly not for a mortal. Your life is—_ ”

 

“ _Mine. My life is mine, to do with as I will!_ ” Harry snapped, his emerald eyes sparkling with suppressed ire as he continued coldly. “ _And if my receiving a minor injury that would cause me a bit of discomfort for a short while was all it took to safeguard the life of a friend I would gladly do it again._ ”

 

“ _Had the arrow pierced your shoulder, instead of just scratching the side, it could have killed you, despite your Elven heritage and your magic._ ”

 

Harry spun back towards the elf, his control waning under the continued onslaught, but they were interrupted before he could speak.

 

“ _He knows that, Haldir._ ”

 

Both of Harry’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline as turned to meet his foster-father. “Ada?”

 

“ _He knows, but still he must go. It is the only way he can learn what he needs to know. And, much as we wish we could keep him sheltered and safe amongst us for all eternity, fate will not allow that._ ” Celeborn shook his head sadly as he came up between his son and his Marchwarden and gently pulled his son into his arms for a moment before releasing him. “ _And so we must let him go._ ”

 

“ _But my lord—_ ”

 

“ _We must, Haldir,_ ” Celeborn interrupted firmly, his eyes sad but stern. “ _And you must, as well. Now if you will excuse us, Elerossë needs to be on his way soon._ ” Turning more fully to Harry he murmured, “ _Come, your mother is waiting for you by the Mirror._ ”

 

“Uma, Ada,” Harry replied softly, nodding in response to Haldir’s reluctant bow of acceptance as he followed his father to the grove Galadriel kept her Mirror in. Though he was glad his father had, apparently, accepted his decision, it still saddened him to see any member of his family inundated with worry and sadness that this brought upon the ancient Eldar.

 

He felt his mother’s presence long before they entered the grove itself. Truthfully, he could always feel her presence in the Golden Wood as she was tied totally and intimately into its wards. But he’d become accustom to recognizing the difference between the dormant presence that empowered the ward and the more active presence of his loving mother. It was, of course, especially easy to sense her when her thoughts were focused on his, as they were now, while she sent a rush of warmth and comforting emotion into his psyche before she said anything telepathically. ‘ _Do not fret,_ ion nîn _. All will be well._ ’

 

‘ _I know, Nana,_ ’ Harry replied softly, shaking his head slightly as he followed his Adar down the steps into her clearing. ‘ _I just wish it didn’t have to be this way._ ’

 

Galadriel offered him a small, sad smile as he finally reached her and pulled him into her arms as his Adar had done a few minutes before, though she didn’t pull away to start talking, instead rubbing small circles unto his back as she murmured softly in reply. “ _We all wish that,_ ion nîn _. But we must make do with the cards we are dealt. And you are right, you need this experience._ ” After a moment she drew back to place a kiss on his brow before releasing him. “ _Now it is time. Take care of yourself,_ ion nîn _. And know that you have our support and love, always._ ”

 

“Namárië, ion nîn,” Celeborn murmured, before nodding to Veryan and Voronwë, “ _Take care of him._ ”

 

Both of the Míriel brothers came forward from their place by the stairwell they’d walked down only moments after Harry had and bowed to all three of the nobles before taking their place on either side of Harry.

 

“Hannon le, Nana, Ada,” Harry replied softly, nodding to each in turn. Then he held out the portkey he’d created to take them back some days before, and waited for both of his wife’s cousins to grab hold before finishing with, “ _Namárië_ ,” and disappearing.

         

~ * **_The First Gondorian Encampment, East-Lands - Víressë_** **_20, 542_** * ~

 

“Captain Hadrian, Lieutenant Hama, Lieutenant Herall, welcome back!”

 

Harry smiled at the warm welcome from the king as they entered the command tent. Glancing around as he made his way towards where Turambar’s voice had come from – hidden as he was by the sea of officers there for the meeting – he finally reached the table the king was bent over and bowed as he replied. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

 

Turambar rose with a smile, waving to one of his squires to bring them drinks as he continued. “I trust your injury has mended?”

 

“It has, Sire. Truly, it was little more than a scratch.”

 

“Hmph,” Turambar shook his head, more than a little skepticism in his silvery-gray eyes. “Well you’re lucky it wasn’t poisoned, then. That would have taken longer.”

 

“Probably. But it has mended and shan’t trouble me. Thank you for your concern.”

 

Turambar shook his head, smiling slightly as he did so. “You are my friend, Hadrian, and you may have saved my life when you pushed me out of the way of that arrow. A little show of concern is hardly out of my way. But now,” he sighed, waving to the many maps on the table, “To the matter at hand!”

 

Harry smiled slightly in return before he too leaned over the table to study the logistical maps on display there, littered with writing, symbols and markers. After a few moments of study he nodded, “The last few weeks have been quiet?”

 

“Yes,” another officer – a fellow Captain, called Torres, Harry thought – confirmed. “The enemy has only attacked one encampment and a caravan. And our hunters ran into some of their scouts last week.”

 

“Obviously we’re beating them back a—” one of Torres’s lieutenants, Harris, insisted only to be cut off by one of his fellows.

 

 “It could be a good thing.” Lieutenant Boren interrupted, his tone far more cautious. “Or they could be pulling back to regroup. Gathering their forces and waiting for reinforcements.”

 

Harry remained silent, listening to the other captains and lieutenants toss ideas back and forth. Analyzing enemy movements, theorizing reasons, putting up plans and throwing plans out. This was normal for him. As the supposed youngest and most inexperienced senior officer there, he generally kept his ideas to himself just as the Míriels’ did, waiting to see what the mortals would come up with and only intervening if they might be making a bad mistake...

 

Turambar, he had noticed some time before, often did the same. As his decision to march east against his officers’ advice showed, he didn’t always do what they thought was best, but he did give everyone the chance to speak and be heard. Though Harry knew it aggravated him sometimes that his gifted ‘young’ Captain didn’t speak more often, as Turambar usually made a point of trying to drag thoughts out of him, still he held his peace as often as possible. He was here to learn, not to lead. So he watched, and listened. And occasionally led. But that was more in active combat than anything else, as he tried to avoid affecting too much elsewhere...

 

“And what say you, Captain Hadrian?”

 

Harry blinked, just barely managing to keep himself from starting as the king’s voice pulled him out of his inner musings. One of the convenient aspects of Galadriel’s tutelage was that he had learned to both think and listen or think and speak at the same time. It was something that could be very difficult to do well, but after centuries of meditation and training he could follow meetings like this without needing to keep his entire focus on it. The only problem with doing that was he had to stop and re-focus when he was called upon to speak. But he was getting better at that... It only took him a few blinks to finish analyzing what he’d heard and come up with a response. “I think it best, your Majesty, that we plan for the worst.”

 

“And hope for the best?” Turambar nodded with another small smile. “Yes, you’ve suggested such before. The best would be that we’re really winning and driving them back.”

 

“And the worst would be that their waitin’ for reinforcements,” another senior officer – Captain Kendrix – nodded, apparently in agreement.

 

“And how exactly do we plan for that?” the more hopeful Lieutenant Harris grumbled.

 

All were silent for several moments before Harry sighed and offered, “What of the Kingdom of Rhovanion?”

 

“They’d make useful allies,” Captain Torres agreed, and then shook his head. “But they’re not interested.”

 

“Not yet, anyway,” one of the lieutenants Harry had never spoken to muttered.

 

“Yeah, give ‘em a few years to ge’ used to Easterlin’s stealin’ their crop’ an’ livestock, then they’ll see reason.” Another unknown lieutenant agreed.

 

Harry frowned, but held his tongue. The blasé attitude to the suffering of others bothered him, but there wasn’t much he could do about either. While those that might suffer were not allies, he could not push for military aid. And complaining about the attitude of others would draw too much attention, likely ridicule, that he did not need.

 

“Yes,” the King shook his head, frowning slightly as he continued. “To win this war we may certainly need such an alliance, but thus far all entreaties have been rebuffed. We will have to wait for something to change, and make do with what we have in the meantime.” Nodding to another officer, the now Lieutenant Dravis, he raised an eyebrow. “Are any of the new recruits ready to join us?”

 

Dravis sighed, shaking his head. “Some, my king. But no’ enough ta bring ‘em all here. No’ even one in four are ready, las’ coun’.”

 

“I see,” Turambar sighed, nodding in agreement before turning his attention to another officer, one of the eldest who had been in his father’s service years before Turambar himself had entered military service. “And what of our inactive subjects, Captain Aldous? Can none of my loyal lords offer any companies to our service?”

 

“The call was sent out, my king.” The old soldier replied, his voice a bit scratchy from either an affliction of old age or too many years of breathing smoke on the battlefield, maybe both. “It’s still early for a response, though. An’ many sen’ some troops with the initial campaign.”

 

Turambar nodded again, “Very well...” After a moment he nodded again. “Are there any more suggestions or any matters that must be discussed this evening?” When none responded he nodded again and dismissed them. “Then we’ll sleep on this and discuss it again in the morning. Captain Hadrian, please stay a moment. Everyone else may go rest.”

 

Harry returned the nods several of the other officers offered him, returning the small smiles Kendrix and Aldous offered on their way out and nodding in dismissal as well to the Míriel brothers, who he knew would wait for him outside the tent. Not because they really felt he was in danger here, but because they were over protective at the best of times, and because they’d renewed their oaths to Celeborn and Galadriel only a few days before. Oaths that they’d certainly not forgotten, but the reminder of which following the wound he’d received previously would keep them tense for some weeks – if not months – to come.

 

After all the others had left Turambar waived one of his squires over and raised an eyebrow as ‘Hadrian,’ “I’ll have an ale, Gladus. Would you like anything, my friend?”

 

“If there’s any wine left I’d appreciate some.”

 

The squire nodded, “Some arrived with the last caravan from the capital, sir. There are even some bottles from Rivendell. The Elves have been more open to trade as of late.”

 

“Yes, it is something my Queen and the ladies back home are quite pleased with,” Turambar confirmed with a chuckle, nodding to a letter that rested on his roughly-made bed. “Actually, Gladus, I’ll have some of that as well. Bring the bottle.”

 

“Yes, my king,” the younger man bowed with practiced ease before quickly leaving the tent to do as bid while Turambar waived to the few chairs around the map-covered table that had remained unused throughout the meeting.

 

“Have a seat, my friend. Tell me of your time on leave. You seem well-mended.”

 

“I am, my friend. Thank you.” Harry confirmed with a small smile, ignoring the ever-present glimmer of speculation and curiosity in the king’s eyes.

 

He knew Turambar was curious about him, and probably always would be. The man was very intelligent and observant, and he knew that ‘Captain Hadrian’ was unusual, and that something was off with his history. But Harry was too gifted a Captain to risk his loyalties with too much prying, and he’d proven himself trustworthy on a number of occasions since Turambar sought his friendship. Thus, Harry knew he was safe when it came to the too-observant king of Gondor. He knew that his past was safe and would remain so no matter how much he wanted to tell his friend the truth.

 

“I am glad to hear you were not overly troubled in my absence.”

 

“Yes, it was remarkably quiet. A nice change from the months prior, despite the foreboding aspect of the lull. Where did you and your brothers take your leave? The supply train that passed between here and the nearest settlement twice in your absence never saw you.”

 

Harry nodded, having known this might be brought up upon his return. “We weren’t traveling on the major road. Figured it’d make us too easy a target for any attacks on the train.”

 

“Probably wise. Though I can’t see how restful camping in the wilderness so near enemy territory could be for a time on leave.”

 

Harry remained silent as Squire Gladus returned with their drinks, served them and bowed before his departure, only replying after the doubled-over tent flap had swung shut behind the boy. “It was actually very relaxing. I had more time to interact with my wife as well.”

 

“With your falcon, I assume.” Turambar nodded, smiling slightly as he took a sip of his recently poured wine. “I do wish we could manage a way of setting that up between here and Minas Anor. Even with the constant battles and whatnot, it would be nice to hear from home more often.”

 

Harry nodded slightly as he also took a sip of his wine.

 

“And how is your lady?”

 

“Well, thank you. Though rather lonely, I’m afraid. How fairs the Queen?”

 

“Much the same. Pleased at the increased trade with the Elves, as I said. Usually they aren’t overly opened to it.” Turambar shook his head, smiling slightly as he took a sip of his wine. “All the better that they are, with so many of Gondor’s men now away at war.”

 

“It’s my understanding that contact with other nations, with mortals especially, can be difficult for them as they see the passage of time differently.”

 

“Oh?” Turambar raised an eyebrow curiously, “A year’s a year for them as well, is it not?”

 

“Yes,” Harry nodded, taking a sip of his wine before continuing. “And no... How old are you, my friend?”

 

“As of my most recent birthday I have seen one-hundred-and-forty-five winters, why?”

 

“And do some of the courtiers back home not seem young to you? The ones that have just come of age, or even those that have served for a time?”

 

“At times. But that’s natural. Experience breeds wisdom, after all.”

 

“Yes. But how old do you think... hmm, how about Elrond of Rivendell? How old do you think he is?”

 

Turambar was silent for several moments before he shook his head. “I have no idea as to his age, but I think I see your point. He was involved in the War of the Ring centuries ago, so we know he’s at least that old. And we know that there are Elves that have been around for far longer... All of us must seem like little more than children to them for most of our lives.”

 

“Yes. But if that were the only problem they’d be more than happy to help us learn from their wisdom. No the real problem is what you also can experience with time. Think of...say Captain Aldous. He served under your father when he was younger. And years later, he taught you the basics of swordplay as well, did he not?”

 

“Yes, he did.”

 

“And has he not changed from what you remember? Has time not changed him?”

 

“No, of course he’s changed. He’s growing old. And he doesn’t have Dúnedain blood. He only has a few more years of active service in him, then he’ll undoubtedly serve as an advisor in court. But that’s—”

 

“Natural. Yes, to mortals it is. But to immortals? The passage of time does not affect them. Yet an immortal is still capable of befriending a mortal. An immortal may still interact with a mortal youth and come to like them. An immortal may watch a mortal grow, even offer guidance to them as they do. The mortal will grow. Will wed. Have children. And, if times are peaceful and they are allowed to live their life to its fullest, eventually they will grow old, and die. While the immortal remains unchanged.”

 

Seeing the king seemed to be following, Harry took another sip of his wine, finishing the goblet before setting it down and continuing.

 

“To an immortal, if you die of old age one hundred years from now, you still will only have lived a quarter of a millennium. And then you’ll be gone... How many times do you think they should go through that?”

 

“The loss?”

 

“Yes, how many times do you think they should open themselves up, connect to someone, and then lose them? Knowing all the while that that is how it must be?”

 

After several long moments of silence Turambar shook his head. “I suppose I can see what you’re saying. It explains their distance, to a point.”

 

“Add to that the jealously and distrust they may face from mortals, for their eternal lives and ever-youthful appearance, and it makes the idea of communicating often with mortals a bit unappealing.” Harry shrugged. “And they have long, long memories. You may recall from your schooling in history that there were times when Elves have been betrayed by men. And while those men have been long dead, some of the Elves that were betrayed are still here. Once burned, twice shy, as they say.”

 

“Yes, I suppose that does make sense.” Turambar nodded thoughtfully before tipping his head back and draining the last of his wine from its goblet. Waving to ‘Hadrian’s’ goblet, he set his own on the table before them and picked up the wine bottle his squire had brought, pouring more for both of them with the ease of long-practice. “I haven’t heard that phrase before.” At Hadrian’s look of surprise he continued, “‘Once burned, twice shy,’ I mean. It’s certainly fitting though. Did you hear that from the Elves?”

 

“Umm, no.” Harry shook his head, frowning in thought. “Actually I don’t remember where I heard it. Someone must have said it when I was a child,” he finished with a shrug.

 

Turambar nodded again. After a moment he waived to the maps. “Now what do you really think of all this?”

 

“Rhovanion is the best option. I’d suggest Rohan, as well, but I believe they’ve had several bad winters as of late and probably can’t spare too many Riders.”

 

“Hmm, yes. They had some illness pass around them all... And I believe their crop yield this past autumn was lacking. I seem to recall agreeing to send some of our surplus to Meduseld.”

 

“That was generous.”

 

Turambar shrugged, “They’re good allies. I’m sure if I sent for aid they would come regardless of the cost to them.”

 

“They would. But you won’t send for them.”

 

“No. They need all their hands for the planting season. Especially after so long a winter.” Turambar took another sip of wine before continuing, “Do you think it would be worth asking the Elves for aid?”

 

Having just taken a sip of his own wine, Harry had to fight the instinctive urge to choke on it in surprise, forcing himself to swallow calmly before taking a deep breath and replying. “I can’t see how this war would concern the Eldar.”

 

“Oh? Might not the Easterlings be a threat to their lands if they overrun us?”

 

“Perhaps,” Harry conceded, before shaking his head. “And if there was a danger of that, they would certainly come. But we aren’t even fighting in Gondor anymore. These are the East-lands. And it seems immoral to ask the Elves to help with the expansion of Gondor’s borders.”

 

“Hmm. I suppose it would be,” Turambar agreed, before shaking his head with a sigh. “By that logic, it would make the most sense to withdraw back to our borders until our own reinforcements arrive, and give up all that we have won in the last year’s struggles.”

 

“Perhaps it would. If we were certain that reinforcements were coming for them.”

 

“Is there any way we can be certain?”

 

After a moment of thought, Harry nodded. “There is...”

 

~ * **_Caras Galadon, Lothlórien Víressë_** **_21, 542_** * ~

 

In all her life, Ránewen had never been alone as she was now. There had always been someone nearby and there for her, a friend or kin. Even as she was orphaned as a nearly mature elfling, she was quickly found by the survivors of the caravan and as the only elfling among them was smothered with attention and quickly rushed to safety. As she grew older, she was schooled alongside the other elleths of her generation, and surrounded by constant companions. Those companions became dear friends and she was never far from at least a few of them. After all, her life was planned around activities and friends, meaning she had no reason to go far from them. If she was traveling somewhere, friends or family were with her.

 

But now she was married. She had her own home. And though her friends and family were still all nearby, she couldn’t quite bring herself to go to them. She missed Elerossë. She’d become used to being able to share her thoughts and experiences with one person day after day without any reservations. Thus it was disconcerting for him to be gone for so long.

 

The great feeling of loneliness that was closing in around her, and had been ever since Elerossë’s first departure for Gondor’s war with the East, kept her closed off from her friends and family outside. It made her move restlessly about her telain, striving to keep everything absolutely perfect for when Elerossë returned, even as she tried to keep her mind off his absence.

 

Part of the reason she kept herself so closed off was because a part of her knew they couldn’t comprehend what she was feeling. This wasn’t a war that all of Elvendom was involved in. When her friends came to visit, to gossip and lend sympathetic ears, they weren’t worried about their husbands. Some of their husbands’ might be on the border patrol, true, but they weren’t at war and the borders of the Golden Wood have been relatively peaceful for decades now.

 

Elerossë had been nothing but reassuring when he’d left. He was certain he’d return home safe and sound..

 

_How_ she wished she could have told him not to go. But she knew that would have been wrong. She knew he needed this just as he did. As much as he loved her, and would almost certainly have acquiesced to her wishes had she decisively expressed them... subconsciously, at least, he would have resented it. He wouldn’t have said anything. But that would have been the first secret to come between them, then. And then others would come, and the secrets could eventually force their love for each other to wane.

 

For that first secret would have sown a small seed of doubt, a memory of a broken promise. A promise she’d made willingly when she’d agreed to be his wife. When they had sworn their vows.

 

She had already experienced what life was like without him while knowing he existed. _Torture_. She had waited through years and years of anguish. Meaningless, painful existence, surrounded by self-doubt. Decades of telling herself that he would eventually come for her. That they were destined for one another, as the bond that had quickly formed between them in the first few months of their acquaintance had told her...

 

That bond had been all that had been keeping her sane during that waiting period. Though his mind had not been open to her thoughts – for though they could communicate in that way, it was really only at a close distance – she could still feel his emotions and occasionally enter his dreams. Just as she could now.

 

So she’d let him go. And now she was waiting. Again. Clinging to every shred of emotion that he felt...

 

“ _Are we intruding?_ ” A familiar voice inquired from directly behind her.

 

Startled, Ránewen spun around from the bookcase she’d been rearranging, one hand flying to her chest in surprise. After a moment, she took a deep breath and shook her head, forcing a small smile to her face for her guests. “ _No, no, of course not, dear ones._ ” She replied, nodding to both her sister-in-law and her niece gracefully.

 

The daughter of the rulers of the Golden Wood smiled brightly, and her smile was echoed by her own daughter’s as she replied. “ _Ah, that is good then._ ” Moving a few steps forward, she wrapped a gentle arm around Ránewen’s shoulders and firmly led her out of the telain and onto the outer veranda. “ _We were starting to worry. We have been here for many days since Elerossë’s return and departure, and have not seen you anywhere since he last left._ ”

 

Allowing herself to be gently pushed into one of her own chairs, Ránewen glanced down guiltily, and was somewhat surprised to find some tea had already been set out on the table. Frowning at how she could have failed to notice the two ladies arriving when they bore so much, she shook her head. “ _I am sorry. I... I have been... tired, as of late._ ”

 

“ _Tired?_ ” Celebrían inquired, nodding thankfully when her daughter handed her a cup of tea with a spoonful to honey mixed in. “Hannon le, ian nîn.” (Thank you, my daughter.)

 

Nodding, Arwen finished preparing her own tea and took her seat, having already set her aunt’s before her.

 

“Uma, hannon le, Arwen.” Ránewen echoed, before shaking her head. “ _Yes, tired. I just haven’t been interested in venturing out much... I’m sure it’ll soon past._ ”

 

“ _Perhaps you should see Elrond or Naneth nîn._ ”

 

“ _I would rather not bother them, Celebrían. And I am a full-blooded Eldar. We don’t fall ill._ ”

 

“ _Save from poison or grief,_ ” Celebrían nodded, her fair face serenely neutral.

 

“ _I have prepared all of my meals from the same supplies as the rest of the city. If any of it were tainted with poison, others would be ill._ ” Ránewen replied smoothly, taking a sip of her tea.

 

“ _But you are the only elleth who’s husband is away at war._ ”

 

Ránewen paused momentarily, her entire body freezing up for a moment, before she brought her teacup up to mouth once more. After swallowing a long sip from the cup, she replied, “ _So I am. What of it?_ ”

 

“ _Does that not cause you grief?_ ”

 

“ _That none of the other elleths have husbands to worry for? Of course not! I would not wish that on anyone._ ”

 

Celebrían took another sip of her own tea before stating. “ _So you are worried._ ”

 

After a moment’s thought, Ránewen took another long sip from her own tea, before shaking her head. “ _Elerossë is well. I spoke to him just a few days ago._ ”

 

“ _Yes, I know._ ” Celebrían nodded, smiling gently as she offered her reason for coming in a slightly admonishing tone. “ _You also promised to find a way to pass the time with pleasure, rather than boredom and loneliness, in his absence._ ” When Ránewen did not reply, Celebrían shook her head. “ _What are you doing, Ránewen?_ ”

 

“ _Waiting._ ” Ránewen replied, before draining the last of the tea in her cup.

 

Taking the cup from her sister-in-law’s unresisting hand to refill it, Celebrían shook her head. “ _For Elerossë to return?_ ” She sighed as Ránewen again remained stoically silent. “ _You know that could be years in coming._ ”

 

“ _I shall endure._ ”

 

“ _Elerossë did not want you to endure it. He wanted you to live, to enjoy life, even in his absence... Why do you think he was hesitant to marry you initially?_ ”

 

Ránewen blinked before replying, accepting her refilled teacup as she did so. “ _Because he did not want me to give up my eternal life, should he have to. He said something about my sailing to Valinor without him, where my eternal life could continue, ever green._ ”

 

“ _When he returns to Earth, will you follow him?_ ”

 

“ _Yes._ ”

 

“ _And if he is mortal there? If the choice of the Peredhil is taken from him in the passage?_ ”

 

“ _If my only choices are to spend one lifetime with him, wherever he may go, or to endure all the ages of this world alone, I would gladly choose a mortal life with him._ ”

 

Celebrían sighed, but nodded. “ _He has to go back. And he could die there._ ”

 

“ _So could he here. So could you or I._ ” Ránewen sighed, taking another sip of her tea. “ _Yet wherever he goes, I shall follow._ ”

 

After several moments of silence, Celebrían nodded. “ _I do hope the pair of you are able to return unharmed, when his tasks are done._ ” After taking another sip of her own tea, she shook her head sadly. “ _And I pray the day you must leave us is a long, long way off._ ”

 

“ _I think it would fun._ ”

 

Both of the older elleths started, before turning to the much younger one with small smiles.

 

“ _Well, don’t you?_ ” Arwen asked, her deep blue eyes wide with curiosity and imagination. “ _To see a completely different world, one that is full of great magical beings and carts that can travel down roads without horses to pull them and cover the distance a horse can travel in a day in less than an hour with no rest?_ ” *(1)

 

Celebrían and Ránewen both laughed, shaking their heads in merriment at the younger elleth’s eagerness. After taking a moment to collect herself, Ránewen nodded with a smile, “ _I suppose it would be,_ thêlian nîn _, I suppose it would be._ ”

<my niece>

 

“ _Have you been talking to your_ Nanatôr _without me,_ ian nîn _?_ ” Celebrían asked with a warm smile, “ _Or have you just been keeping that bottled up since he left?_ ”

<Uncle>

 

“ _I’m allowed to talk to_ Nanatôr nîn!” Arwen protested, frowning at the supposed implication that she was not.

 

“ _Of course you are,_ tithen nîn,” Ránewen replied gently, smiling slightly at her sister-in-law’s rolled eyes. “ _But it isn’t like you to keep such excitement to yourself._ ”

 

“ _Oh... Well I told the Gwenyn!_ ”

 

“ _Of course you did,_ ” Celebrían murmured, rolling her eyes as she finished her tea, watching her sister-in-law follow suit. Though Arwen was technically no longer an elfling, having celebrated her third century three years before, she was still very young and immature, as most elves were at that age. Elerossë had joked that she and the gwenyn were in their ‘teenage-years,’ at this point, as he had been when he had first arrived on Arda. The only reason he had matured more quickly, to the point of matching Ránewen in maturity though she was a few centuries his elder, was because he was not born an elf. He wasn’t even adopted until after he’d gone through his coming-of-age in the Wizarding World, with the passing of his seventeenth birthday. The addition of Elvish blood, therefore, did not take away that maturity, though it did increase his power considerably. Nevertheless, the typical coming of age, or when elflings were considered full-grown elves was with the coming of their fifth century. That was two centuries off for Arwen... Though a large part of her doubted her mischievous sons would mature all that much over the next eighty years. “ _And what did the Gwenyn say?_ ”

 

Arwen frowned, shaking her head. “ _They tried to get Nanatôr to make one._ ”

 

Celebrían bit back a smile as she watch her sister-in-law half-choke on her tea, waiting till she was sure the elleth was freely breathing before asking, “ _Did they?_ ”

 

“ _Yes. But he said no._ ” Arwen shook her head again, still frowning. “ _He said it might be fun if he was allowed to, but that even if he was it wouldn’t work well on Arda, because we don’t have the right kind of roads..._ ” Still frowning, Arwen asked, “ _What’s wrong with our roads?_ ”

 

“ _Nothing, dear-heart,_ ” Celebrían replied, still smiling. “ _But I’m afraid they aren’t designed for such contraptions._ ”

 

“ _Why?_ ”

 

“ _Because they’ve never needed to be._ ”

 

“ _But if Nanatôr made a...horseless cart, they would need to be._ ”

 

“ _Perhaps,_ ” Ránewen cut in with a nod, suppressing a smile at her niece’s earnest expression and her sister-in-law’s clearly suppressed exasperation. “ _But that would still draw attention to your Nanatôr that he does not need drawn to him._ ”

 

“ _Why not?_ ”

 

“ _Because your Daer-Naneth said so._ ”

<Grandmother>

 

“ _Oh..._ ” After a few seconds of though the young elleth shrugged, sighing as she finished. “ _I guess that makes sense... But I still want to see one._ ”

 

Ránewen laughed, “ _Perhaps you could ask your Nanatôr to create an illusion of one for you. Or to take you into his pensieve._ ”

 

Her expression suddenly brightening again, Arwen nodded in agreement. “ _Oh, that would be fun!_ Hannon le, Nanethêl nîn!” Not waiting for a reply, or even seeming to draw a breath, she quickly asked, “ _Do you think he’d let me see a Quidditch match again?_ ”

<thank you, my aunt>

 

“ _Perhaps, if you ask nicely._ ” Ránewen replied, smiling as she knew her husband was not capable of denying his niece anything.

 

“ _I think we’ve gotten a bit off topic, my dears._ ” Celebrían offered gently, before Arwen could pursue the subject. “ _Ránewen, we were hoping you would return to Imladris with  us for some time. It’s been too long since you’ve graced our halls, and the elflings would like to spend more time with you. As would Elrond and I._ ”

 

“ _I’m not an elfling,_ ” Arwen muttered, her tone far less gracious and exuberant than normal.

 

Celebrían rolled her eyes, “ _In the eyes of the Eldar, you still are, ian nîn. Despite your ordinarily mature outlook. And you do want to spend time with your Nanethêl, don’t you?_ ”

 

“Ai! Uma, uma! _Please come with us,_ NanethêlRánewen _!_ ” Arwen beseeched, her sapphire eyes wide and bright. “ _You haven’t visited in **ages!**_ ”

 

Ránewen laughed, smiling slightly. “ _Well, I don’t think it’s been that long,_ thêlian nîn _. But it has been a while..._ ” She paused, glancing towards the door of her home before shaking her head and meeting her sister-in-law’s hopeful eyes. “ _When are you taking your leave?_ ” she asked, suppressing a wince at the fact that she, the daughter-in-law of the rulers of this realm, did not have the faintest idea.

 

“ _The day after tomorrow. Ammë nîn is preparing a Leaving Feast for tomorrow night._ ”

<my Mom>

 

“ _I shall have to help her, then..._ ” Ránewen sighed. “ _That’s not a lot of time. Perhaps I should follow aft—_ ”

 

“ _My ladies-maids’ and I will be happy to help you pack, Tôrvesse nîn._ ” Celebrían cut in, shaking her head. “ _Though you really should have your own ladies-maids._ ”

<my sister-in-law>

 

“ _Elerossë doesn’t like having servants about, doing things we can easily do ourselves._ ”

 

“ _And when Elerossë is here to cut hours, if not days, off of projects with his spells, you may not need them. But that does not mean you shouldn’t have some when he is not here. Or just to help you specifically, even when he is._ ” Waving Ránewen’s objections away, Celebrían shook her head as she continued. “ _We shall help you pack tomorrow morning, then. I doubt Ammë nîn will need too much help preparing. She does have several ladies-maids, you know, princess._ ”

 

Ránewen rolled her eyes. “ _Elerossë hates that title, you know._ ”

 

“ _Oh, I do._ ”

 

“ _Did you ask Thranduil to—_ ”

 

“ _I only asked Thranduil to reside over your wedding and in so doing affirm Elerossë’s place in our society. I did not ask him to name my foster-brother a prince of the Eldar mere days after meeting him._ ” Celebrían paused, her small smile a little bit wicked. “ _Though looking back on it, I wish I had thought of something of that sort._ ”

 

Shaking her head, Ránewen finished her tea and set the cup aside, waving Celebrían’s hand away when she moved to refill it. “ _No thank you. I will see you in the morning._ ”

 

Nodding, Celebrían finished her own tea and rose, smiling as Arwen followed her example, though her daughter’s teacup was still half-full with the tea that she had first poured, and had undoubtedly gone cold already. “Uma _, with the rising sun. I’ll have one of my maid’s clean this up._ ” <Yes>

 

“ _I can—_ ”

 

“ _I insist._ ” Celebrían cut in firmly. “ _You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the days after even more so._ ”

 

“Be iest lîn,” Ránewen consented with a sigh, following her visitors to the ladder that would take them down to the ground, and bidding them farewell before turning in for the evening as she had been told to. <as you wish>

 

~ * **_East of Gondorian Encampments, East-Lands - Lótessë_** **_5, 542_** * ~

 

Harry shook his head as he made his way stealthily through the woods of the East-Lands, now damp with the springtime’s rains. Though he was not naturally as light-footed as the Míriel brothers, who were of course moving right along with him, his adoption into the Eldar gave him some of that grace, and his magic more than made-up for the rest. He had told Turambar that a small party had a much better chance of moving swiftly through the lands undetected, and he’d been right. He just hadn’t mentioned that the real reason he didn’t want anyone other than his lieutenants with him was because if anyone else were there he would not be free to cast wards on their encampments at night. On their food and water. He wouldn’t be free to use the Sight he’d gained from his foster-mother to see – and scan – the area around them. And he wouldn’t be able to cast spells that rendered them totally invisible to the enemies eyes and ears.

 

Some of the spells he’d pulled from _Hermione’s Tome_ made him wonder at the Wizarding World’s history. On one hand, he knew that the Wizard-kind wanted to avoid being detected by Muggles at all costs, and likely didn’t want to Obliviate and alter memories too often, for fear of causing problems in that regard. Therefore they needed spells to keep them safe from the Muggles.

 

He also knew about spells such as the _Fidelius Charm_ , which could totally conceal a secret within a single keeper’s control, making the secret impossible to discover unless the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. That charm could actually be used to hide anything. Any person. Any place. Any item. Anything... Which was actually why he’d never told any of the Eldar about it, as he didn’t want them getting ideas about his safety. The modified _Fidelius_ he’d used to protect the Hobbits’ of the Shire and his House there was nowhere near as powerful, but it would undoubtedly last for a very long, long time.

 

But that was what a _Fidelius_ was really for. Protecting an important secret for a long period of time. Would that it could be used for all secrets, but casting the spell was very difficult and draining. Which was probably why Ránewen and the Míriel brothers had never thought to suggest he cast it upon himself, seeing as he’d collapsed and remained unconscious for two whole days after he cast one upon the Shire. That and he hadn’t told them that he might be able to teach one of the more powerful Eldar to cast it. He wouldn’t doubt Galadriel or Elrond would be able to do it. Both were powerful in their own right, but with the Rings they bore they were on a different level of power from most Elves entirely...

 

All he really needed his magic for on this venture was invisibility spells and silencing spells. Add those to an occasional notice-me-not on each of them, and they were almost entirely safe. He’d tried using a _Supersensory Charm_ on himself on the first day of their travels, but found that that quickly drove him to distraction – and a migraine – and was therefore not remotely worth the trouble. As best he could figure, that spell was supposed to enhance his senses... but since his adoption to the Eldar had already enhanced his senses somewhat, the additional enhancements were just too much. At least without a lot of practice in a much less stressful situation.

 

Not that any of that had been necessary in the past few days. Though he’d dutifully recast the spells when needed, along with regularly warding their campsites and wiping their trail since they’d left Gondor’s easternmost camp sixteen days ago at nightfall, they had not seen any sign of any Easterlings. And his occasional “point me Easterlings” were still sending them east, so they knew they hadn’t missed anyone.

 

“ _When you’re scouting enemy lands isn’t the best of times to let your thoughts wander,_ mellon nîn.” Veryan’s amused voice came from a few steps ahead of him.

 

Harry stopped, shaking his head as he forced himself to refocus on the present, where both of his bodyguards had stopped in front of him, and were smirking at him, their dark blue eyes bright with a bit of laughter. Rolling his eyes, he shook his head, “ _Probably not. What have you found?_ ”

 

The younger Míriel replied, “ _Tracks, headed south._ ”

 

“ _South? That doesn’t make much sense. Their native lands are to the northeast of the Sea of Rhûn._ ”

 

“ _Doesn’t mean they can’t set up camp on the south shore of the sea._ ” Voronwë pointed out with a shrug, his eyes now serious.

 

Not giving it any more thought, Harry nodded, drawing his wand and holding it in the palm of his hand and murmuring, “Point me, Easterlings.” His wand spun, slowing to point toward the eat for only a moment before it suddenly sensed the closer target and shifted before coming to a halt, pointing just slightly east of true south. Smiling, Harry sheathed his wand once more and nodded to the younger brother. “ _Good work, Voronwë._ ”

 

It was only a little over an hour later that they came upon the Easterlings camp, which had been set up along the shore of a river that flowed to the Sea of Rhûn itself. The camp itself was made up of a few cooking fires and less than a dozen tents.

 

“ _Well, they must be waiting for reinforcements, because this is just pathetic,_ ” Veryan whispered, receiving nods of agreement from the other two.

 

After a few moments of silent observation, Voronwë asked, “ _What do you want to do,_ heru nîn _?_ ”

 

Harry frowned, closing his eyes and letting his mind drift out to scan the camp for several moments before pulling himself back. “ _There’s less than two-dozen of them. And several are wounded._ ”

 

“ _Strange for them to keep their wounded here, when they aren’t all that far from home._ ”

 

“ _Perhaps they’re retreating?_ ” Voronwë suggested in answer to his brother’s observation.

 

Veryan shook his head, frowning as he continued to watch the camp. “ _No, I don’t think so. They don’t have that air about them... They’re not happy. But they’re not yet retreating. Not yet defeated._ ”

 

“ _I agree,_ ” Harry replied, watching as several of their enemies obviously traded jokes around one of the campfires over lunch. “ _But I’ll need one of them alive, to know for sure._ ”

 

“ _Hmm, seven-to-one odds aren’t the best. Though they are manageable if you want to use magic in the fight,_ heru nîn.”

 

“ _I think that’d be best._ ” Harry agreed, drawing his wand again. After waving it a few times to set wards around the area, he told them. “ _I’ve put wards up to make sure they flee towards me. I’ll make their campfires explode, and get some of the tents burning. Then I’ll rain arrows down on them. After that you two should attack from different sides of the camp. I’ll cover you. Understand?_ ”

 

“ _Fire. Arrows. Attack. Come towards you. Got it._ ” Veryan replied, while his younger brother nodded.

 

“ _You have fifteen minutes to get in position._ ”

 

“Uma, heru nîn,” Both replied, before moving quickly off in opposite directions, so that their attacks would be coming from two sides of the camp towards him.

 

With a sigh, Harry settled in to wait after setting a timer spell to keep track of the time and putting another notice-me-not and an invisibility spell around him. It was strange to think how very similar his birth-world must have been to Arda at one point in time. Now Wizards had almost absolute supremacy over all magical races, but history told of many times that that was not so. The numerous goblin rebellions, werewolf wars, and vampire scourges were surely testament to that. As was how the so-called pureblood wizards of old lines disdained muggle-born witches and wizards but were never willing to leave the Wizarding world and really even pass through the Muggle one. Instead they created floo travel, portkeys, apparition and broomsticks.

 

When had all of that changed? He had to wonder at that. For the world ‘wizard’ was listed in Muggle dictionaries. Considered fantasy by most, just as many mortals didn’t believe in Elves until they actually saw one (and even then they might still be doubtful), but that proved that there had certainly been a time when wizards and Muggles lived side-by-side...

 

Had they decided to separate the worlds to avoid bloodshed? Did they perhaps feel that bloodshed was certain with the two races interacting too closely?

 

The extremes bothered him to. It seemed you either were a Muggle-lover or a Muggle-hater. Neither technically had total say in the government, but the radically different viewpoints existed. Despite that, even Muggle-lovers like the Weasleys weren’t overly keen on interacting with Muggles.

 

It was odd. And a puzzle that had bothered him for quite some time. One that even _Hermione’s Tome_ —with its countless history books compiled within—could not answer. Though now really was not the time for such thoughts...

 

Harry blinked, and smoothly dismissed his timer when he saw it had completed its countdown. Turning his full attention onto the nearby enemy camp, he shook his head, before closing his eyes and reaching out with his magic in his mind’s eye. Then he softly murmured, “ _Confundo Totalum,_ ” before opening his eyes and aiming his wand at the central campfire to incite, “ _Expulso!_ ”

 

Instant mayhem reigned through the camp, with the enemy soldiers under the influence of his confundus charm, they weren’t even capable of the rational thought that there camp was right next to a river, and that that river contained water that could be used to put the spreading fires out.

 

Shaking his head, he raised his wand again, this time pointing it skyward in their general direction and cast, “ _Pluotelum! Pluotelum! Pluoetelum!_ ”* Sending a shower of arrows down on the camp from the sky above.

 

He heard Voronwë and Veryan before he saw them, as a few years among the soldiers of Gondor had helped them learn Gondor’s war cry, which they had become accustom to releasing before entering battle under the guise of Hama and Herall. Glancing towards them, he waved his wand again, casting illusions of larger numbers around both of them, while at the same time placing individual shields against arrows on both. He knew none in this camp could match the Míriel brothers with swords, but he wasn’t to risk the chance of there being a good archer amongst their enemies that could function even under the confusion he’d cast upon them.

 

Rising fully to his feet, Harry moved towards the camp, observing the rapidly following enemies. He shook his head sadly as the screams of those who were too wounded to save themselves from the flaming tents reached his ears, but knew he could not save them. Instead he reached out with his mind again, though with only half his focus, and cast, “ _Stupefy Totalum,_ ” on all those within the tents, granting them the mercy of painless deaths at the very least. Though the mass-stupefy generally required a lot more power to be effective, on wounded, exhausted and probably petrified men the intent behind the spell effectively acted as the nudge towards painless unconsciousness they needed.

 

Not bothering to draw his sword as he let his invisibility spell fall, Harry instead used his wand with ease, casting any spell that came to mind when an enemy was unfortunate enough to spot him. Only one received a “ _stupefy,_ ” to ensure they did in fact have someone to interrogate later, the rest were lucky if “ _Locomotor mortis_ ” popped into his mind before “ _Reducto,_ ” “ _Deprimo,_ ” or “ _Diffindo._ ”

 

Against the Muggles of Gondor, these Muggle Easterlings probably would have held their own longer than a few minutes. But with magic turned against them, magic that had been specifically designed for combat, they didn’t stand a chance. Which was why it was only a few minutes before all but the one he’d _stupified_ near the start were dead.

 

“ _Heru nîn?_ ”

 

Harry was pulled out of his somewhat-horrified daze as he observed the brutal, calculated destruction he’d wreaked upon these poor men only moments before by Voronwë’s gentle inquiry. Shaking his head, he sighed and closed his eyes, just barely stopping himself from mentally reaching for his magic once more to dismiss the horror he felt at the damage he’d caused. It was one thing to do such when under the influence of all of the magic flowing through his veins, bringing the ice-cold logic he’d been trained to use in battle out to the forefront of his brain. It was a completely different thing to look at what he’d done as his magic calmed and sank back into his core... After taking another deep breath he finally opened his eyes once more to see both Voronwë and Veryan standing before him, concern plain in their eyes and expressions. “ _I’m fine,_ mellon nîn,” he replied softly before jerking his head to the man he’d stupified moments before. “ _See to him while I clean this up._ ”

 

Both Elves frowned, but quickly moved to do as they were told, while Harry allowed himself one more moment to gaze around the campsite before pulling his magic up once more and using it to banish the still-burning tents and all that remained of their enemies. When he was done, only the scorched, slightly bloodstained ground and the indents of where campfires had rested gave any hint to what had happened here.

 

Nodding in satisfaction, he turned around, only to frown when he saw that the Míriel’s had apparently decided this was not a good place for an interrogation, and had instead decided to take the man into the woods he’d come out of a short time before. Rolling his eyes in slight annoyance, he followed them.

 

It didn’t take him long to find them. They’d taken their prisoner to a nearby clearing, and tied him to a tree there as ordered.

 

Only sparing the man’s binds half-a-glance, to ensure he wouldn’t be able to escape them even if he wasn’t under a spell, Harry made his way over to the man, summoning a slender vial of potion from the enchanted pocket he’d cast into his leather vest. Again only sparing the vial a glance to make sure it was the right one; he swiftly uncapped it and pried the prisoner’s mouth open, letting a drop of the crystal-clear potion fall on the man’s tongue before closing his mouth again and rubbing his throat to get him to swallow. After a little bit of coaxing the man finally swallowed subconsciously and Harry took a step back, casting “ _Enervate_ ” and slipping his wand back into its sheath as the man came to.

 

“ ** _What is your name?_** ” Harry demanded, keeping his tone level even as he spoke a language he hadn’t spoken since he’d mastered it under Celeborn’s tutelage.

 

The man blinked at him, clearly somewhat surprised by the fact that this man in the garb of the Rangers of Gondor knew his language too, but he nonetheless answered and thereby proved that the _Veritaserum_ was working, “ ** _Hayan Duane-son._** ”

 

Nodding approvingly, Harry continued. “ ** _What were you doing here, Hayan?_** ”

 

“ ** _I was tending to the wounded._** ”

 

“ ** _How many of your people were camped here?_** ”

 

“ ** _Twenty-three._** ”

 

“ ** _Are you part of a larger body?_** ”

 

“ ** _Yes._** ”

 

“ ** _Where are the other members of your group exactly?_** ”

 

“ ** _Dead._** ”

 

“ ** _In battle?_** ”

 

“ ** _Yes._** ”

 

“ ** _All of them were killed in battle?_** ”

 

“ ** _No. Some died during the winter storms when supplies were short._** ”

 

“ ** _And the twenty-three that were here this morning were all that were left?_** ”

 

“ ** _No. There were four more._** ”

 

“ ** _Where are they?_** ”

 

“ ** _Crossing the Sea._** ”

 

“ ** _Why?_** ”

 

“ ** _To tell the Tribes of our losses and make them see reason._** ”

 

Finally! Harry suppressed a smirk of satisfaction, watching the young man’s dark, frightened eyes closely. “ ** _Your... The Tribes are fighting amongst themselves?_** ”

 

“ ** _Yes._** ”

 

“ ** _For how long?_** ”

 

“ ** _Until a new High Chieftain emerges._** ”

 

“ ** _When did the first die?_** ”

 

“ ** _In the late autumn._** ”

 

“ ** _How?_** ”

 

“ ** _He was slain._** ”

 

“ ** _By who?_** ”

 

“ ** _His brother._** ”

 

Harry nodded, finally looking away from the prisoner for a moment to raise a questioning eyebrow at Voronwë and Veryan. Why neither had bothered to truly learn the tongues of the Easterlings in any of their long years puzzled him, but now was not the time to question it. Though to be fair, as the Easterling people were actually many different Tribes of peoples, there were many different dialects of their tongue to learn. At least, with one of the many spells he’d woven into the amulets allowing them to comprehend all they heard, he didn’t have to translate what the man was saying for them, just ask the questions they thought of in the tongue of the East.

 

After a moment Voronwë asked, “ _What are their numbers?_ ”

 

Nodding again Harry repeated the question in the man’s own tongue. “ ** _How many men in the Tribes can fight?_** ”

 

“ ** _Many._** ”

 

“ ** _How many are of age to go to war?_** ”

 

“ ** _Many._** ”

 

“ ** _How many exactly?_**” Harry insisted, frowning as it became apparent that the full potency Veritaserum wouldn’t last as long as he’d hoped on the Muggle. Strange that, as he knew it worked for much more time than this on wizards. Perhaps the potion actually preyed on the subject’s magic and because most Muggles only had that slight-spark that made up life itself the potion couldn’t hold them for as long as it could with a wizard? But that didn’t make sense because very powerful wizards and witches were generally able to resist the potion to a degree, and some were even able to break free of it’s hold in a similarly short period of time... though that could have more to do with the individual’s willpower than their magical power.

 

“ ** _...I do not know._** ”

 

Harry shook his head and forcefully brought his full focus back to the interrogation at hand. “ ** _Exactly how many warriors have the Tribes lost to your recollection?_** ”

 

“ ** _...A thousand, or there about._** ”

 

“ ** _How many Tribes do you know of?_** ”

 

“ ** _Twenty-seven._** ”

 

“ ** _About how many warriors do most Tribes have amongst them?_** ”

 

“ ** _...More than two thousand._** ”

 

“ _Around fifty-four thousand,_ ” Harry translated, glancing at the Elves again. “ _Not counting all those that might have been lost in this war already and in their civil war as well._ ”

 

“ _How long do their civil wars last?_ ”

 

“ ** _How often are the wars between the Tribes?_** ”

 

“ ** _Whenever the High-Chieftain fails a challenger may approach._** ”

 

“ ** _Including the most recent, how many High-Chieftains have reigned in your lifetime?_** ”

 

“ ** _Sixteen._** ”

 

“ _This last High Chieftain was the sixteenth to rule over all the Tribes in his lifetime,_ ” Harry translating, a part of him wondering why the two elves had never learned the Easterling tongue despite the fact that it was known to the Elves, as it had been Celeborn who had forced him to learn it. They knew it well enough to generally follow the interrogation, but could not ask the questions themselves. “ _They fight until a single leader emerges._ ”

 

“ _So we should have at least a few months,_ ” Veryan theorized, his cobalt-blue eyes a bit distant with speculation.

 

“ _Why are they attacking Gondor?_ ”

 

“ ** _Why are the Tribes attacking Gondor?_** ”

 

“ ** _The Tribes move West._** ”

 

“ ** _Why?_** ”

 

“ ** _...Better lands._** ”

 

“ ** _The lands to the East are barren?_** ”

 

“ ** _Not yet._** ”

 

“ _Their people want to move West for better lands,_ ” Harry reported with a sigh, shaking his head a bit sadly.

 

“ _They are not affiliated with the Enemy?_ ”

 

Harry frowned, wondering where the questions was coming from but asking anyway. “ ** _Who is Sauron to your people?_** ”

 

The man frowned, shaking his head, confusion clear on his dark features. “ ** _I...I do not know._** ”

 

“ _He doesn’t seem to know. His confusion seems real, at least,_ ” Harry shook his head again. “ _Is an alliance likely?_ ”

 

“ _Not from the War of the Last Alliance, no,_ ” Veryan shook his head in reply. “ _But it is, nonetheless, still quite possible. Perhaps something a common soldier might not know of though._ ” When neither his lord or his brother offered any further opinions or questions, he asked Harry. “ _What do you wish done with him?_ ”

 

“ _I’ll wipe his memory of these events and stun him. Then we can be on our way. He shouldn’t awaken for several days at least._ ” Harry replied immediately, drawing his wand to start casting the necessary spells.

 

“ _No._ ”

 

Harry stopped, his entire body freezing on the low-spoken protest. After a moment he turned his head towards Veryan once more, honestly taken aback by the objection. “ _I beg your pardon?_ ”

 

“ _We can’t let him go. It puts you at risk._ ”

 

“ _We can’t keep him!_ ”

 

“ _No, we can’t,_ ” Voronwë agreed, though his expression clearly stated he was in agreement with his brother.

 

Harry stared at both of them for a long moment before he shook his head again. “ _I can’t kill him. Not like this._ ”

 

“ _He is an enemy._ ”

 

“ _He’s totally defenseless! He’s tied and magically-bound to a tree! And still half-under the influence of both a drug and a spell that compromise his ability to think clearly._ ”

 

“ _We can’t let him go,_ heru nîn _._ ” Voronwë murmured, his tone gentle but firm, “ _We can’t take him with us. We can’t leave him here. And we can’t stay here and wait for him to die of natural causes._ ”

 

“ _If I wipe his memory—_ ”

 

“ _And one of his comrades finds both him and this campsite? What if his memory returns?_ ”

 

“ _It can’t._ ”

 

“ _You can’t be sure of that._ ”

 

“ _I—_ ”

 

“ _You’ve said many times that the mind is an incredible thing. Capable of amazing feats. How can you be certain his will never heal? Or that he won’t meet someone who can heal it for him?_ ”

 

“ _No one—_ ”

 

“ _You can’t be,_ heru nîn _._ ” Veryan cut into his brother’s logic-driven argument, shaking his head. After a moment he moved forward, placing a hand on the wizard’s shoulder and pushing to turn him away from the prisoner. “ _Let me deal with this, please. You and Voronwë should check the camp to make sure we didn’t miss anything else._ ”

 

A bit shell-shocked at his companions’ forcefulness it took Harry another long moment, during which Voronwë’s arm slipped gently but firmly around his shoulders, to react. Then he tried to turn back, but found himself being dragged steadily away by his determined friend. “ _Voronwë, let me go._ ” When the Elf showed no sign of obeying he tried the other, “ _Veryan, stop! Both of you, that’s an order!_ ” As he felt Voronwë’s hold loosen he tried to spin around but a sudden, firm blow to the back of his head made the world go dark.

 

~ * **_Caras Galadon, Lothlórien - Lótessë_** **_5, 542_** * ~

 

Celeborn glanced up from the text he’d been reading when he sensed his wife pause abruptly a few steps away, her entire form freezing for a moment as her mind went elsewhere. “Melda nîn?” he inquired after a few moments of silence, knowing what such an instance meant after long centuries of experience.

 

Galadriel did not answer immediately, shaking her head as her focus remained away. Then she nodded, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath before opening them again and making her way to the seat next to her husband’s, where she’d initially been headed. “ _That was Voronwë Míriel._ ”

 

“ _What happened?_ ” Celeborn asked, frowning as a dozen different scenarios ran through his head, each one worse than the last.

 

“ _Apparently the Míriels’ were forced to obey the last order we gave them specifically, and Voronwë needed to strike Elerossë into unconsciousness to do it._ ”

 

“ _Elerossë intended to endanger himself?_ ” Celeborn shook his head, still frowning deeply as he marked the page he’d been reading with a bookmark and set the book on the table beside him. “ _I had thought the danger for that had long passed. We only gave that order when they first set out with him on his adventures for fear of his youth. What changed?_ ”

 

Galadriel shook her head sadly, her eyes still a bit distant, though probably in contemplation. “ _He did not want to slay a helpless enemy that he had used his magicks to capture and interrogate._ ”

 

“ _Ah..._ ” Celeborn nodding, understanding on his face even as he sighed and rose, taking his wife by the arm and gently guiding her to the seat beside him before reclaiming his own. “ _Honorable as that may seem, the Míriels were right to protest, and to act._ ”

 

“ _So I told them,_ ” Galadriel nodded, smiling slightly as she sat down. “ _Though I believe the only act they regret overall is striking Elerossë._ ”

 

“ _They were right to knock him out,_ ” Celeborn reasoned. His silver eyes a bit distant in thought. “ _Though it pains me somewhat to say it. Had he truly been against their actions, they wouldn’t have been able to overpower him once he thought to use his magic to stop them._ ”

 

“ _So I told them,_ ” Galadriel nodded again, before shaking her head sadly. “ _And so I will tell Elerossë when he awakens..._ ” then she frowned in contemplation. “ _Should Ránewen be informed of this?_ ”

 

After a long moment Celeborn shook his head. “ _Not by us,_ melda nîn _. If Elerossë tells her of his time at war, it will surely come up. It would make no sense to her out of context... Have they reached Imladris yet?_ ” he asked, referring to the caravan that had set out a little over a week before with their daughter-in-law and all of their daughter’s family.

 

“ _No, they’re still a few days off. The roads are poor due to the recent rains._ ” She still again, before quickly saying, “ _Elerossë is waking. I must go,_ ” and then she closed her eyes and was almost certainly ‘gone.’

 

Sighing, Celeborn picked up his book and returned his attention to the text, hoping it might distract him while he waited for his wife’s return.

 

~ * **_East of Gondorian Encampments, East-Lands - Lótessë_** **_5, 542_** * ~

 

A blow to the head that was strong enough to knock someone out would normally take the body some time to repair. The difference for wizards was that their magic could speed the process along quite quickly. That, and Voronwë’s had been a firm blow to a pressure point, and not intended to do him any real harm.

 

Even so, it did take him several moments to orientate himself to his surrounding as he woke and looked around him. He saw that the Míriels had already set up camp for the night around a small fire. But from the look of the forest around him they had not moved him far from their last location.

 

“Heru nîn?”

 

Harry closed his eyes and drew on some of his magic to dispel the lingering pain in his head and the confusion that had resulted from it. Then he opened his eyes to see both of the Míriel brothers studying him. He returned their gazes for several long moments before speaking, his tone laced with ice. “ _You deliberately disobeyed me._ ”

 

The brothers glanced at each other, and after a nod from Veryan, it was Voronwë who replied.  “ _We disobeyed orders you could not—cannot—give,_ heru nîn _,_ ” Voronwë told him, his voice still that strange combination of gentle and firm, his face impassive when Harry’s green eyes snapped over to stare at him.

 

“ _What do you mean?_ ” Harry demanded, not quite as cold as before, but far from warm.

 

“ _We are first and foremost your guards. Our responsibility is to protect you. By the wills of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, you cannot expect us to obey orders that would unreasonably endanger your person._ ”

 

“ _They give you these orders and allow me to go to war?_ ” Harry demanded, his tone forcefully calm instead of cold, “ _that seems rather contrary._ ”

 

“ _‘Allow’_ _is_ _not the word I would use,_ heru nin,” Veryan murmured. “ _As I recall both protested rather vehemently for some time before they relented. And that is not the danger we are most bound to protect you from._ ”

 

“ _It’s not._ ” Harry repeated, watching both closely.

 

“ _No,_ ” Voronwë confirmed firmly, “ _Though that was initially our purpose, when you were younger, the Lord and Lady have since agreed that you are an adult, capable of making your own decisions and taking the consequences for them._ ”

 

“ _But,_ ” Veryan cut in quickly, before Harry could do so, “ _If you recall, you yourself are under orders to keep your true identity, and your very nature, a secret from all but your family, the King and Queen of Eryn Galen, the Galadhrim and close family friends._ ”

 

Harry closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, striving to release his outrage and anger as he knew the last statement was quite true. And though he had technically outranked his parents since his wedding day, his parents rarely gave him actual orders. And this was a command he had given his word to abide by. After several long moments of silence he opened his eyes, clearly much calmer, though his mouth was still set in a deep frown. “ _So I did... Where is he?_ ”

 

Voronwë shook his head, “Heru nîn _, you don’t have t—_ ”

 

“ _Yes. I do. I need to see him, Voronwë._ ” Harry cut in, his tone hard and unyielding. “ _I don’t know if I could ever get past this without doing so._ ”

 

Voronwë opened his mouth to object again, but paused when his brother laid a staying hand on his shoulder. And after another long pause, Veryan sighed and gestured off to the right. “ _He’s still in the same clearing,_ Heru nîn _._ ”

 

Harry nodded and turned quickly, almost marching in that direction. He swatted tree branches aside as he moved through the woods, too angry to bother with any of the stealth he usually used.

 

It only took a few moments to reach the clearing. He paused at the edge, all but staring at the corpse at the base of the tree he’d bound Hayan son of Duane to only a few hours before, judging by the fading sunlight. After several seconds of staring he finally stepped into the actual clearing and made his way over to the body. He vanished the conjured ropes that lay around the body and tree, cut but not removed by the Míriels.

 

The son of Duane’s eyebrows were thin and arched like a woman’s, a dark black just like his tangled hair and short beard were. His skin was a deep golden color, which had paled from blood loss and the quick death it had caused as blood had flooded out of the deep, clean cut across the man’s throat. His brown eyes, which had been fogged from the effects of the Veritaserum when Harry last seen him were still open, but lifeless. His expression had sagged a bit as life had left his body, but the set of his jaw still clearly showed the terror that he must have been feeling in his last few moments as the potion was wearing off and one of the Míriels’ were approaching his securely-bound form with a sword or dagger.

 

‘ _Elerossë..._ ’ His mother’s mental-voice echoed gently through his mind.

 

Harry ignored her as he scrutinized the cut across the man’s neck more closely and then nodded to himself. Too clean and deep for a sword. Had to be dagger, done at closer range.

 

‘ _Elerossë, there was nothing else that could be done. You know that._ ’

 

The boy’s blood was still flooding out, staining his whole form, the tree, and the grass around him. His heart had obviously stopped beating some time before, but his body had fallen to the side when the Míriels had cut the ropes that had bound him to the tree, allowing gravity to force the blood out of his body even after his heart had stopped trying to frantically pump liquid life to his brain.

 

‘ _Elerossë, you know this was the only way._ ’

 

Harry knew from his training with Elrond that the body could survive loosing up to a third of its total blood volume in this world that didn’t have the possibility of transfusions available. But that was on wounds that weren’t immediately fatal. Cutting his throat had permanently stopped the flow of blood to his brain, which no one could survive...

 

He’d probably been dead in about a minute.

 

Two minutes, at most...

 

‘ _Neither of your friends would wish to be needlessly cruel,_ ’ Galadriel pointed out reasonably, before pleading, ‘ _Elerossë, answer me!_ ’

 

Yet even after his heart had stopped beating blood continued to flood out of his form. Staining his clothes red.

 

The tree’s bark red.

 

The grass beneath him red.

 

Red.

 

Red.

 

 

“Heru nîn _?_ ” Veryan’s quiet inquiry from immediately behind him made him jump even as the elf took a hold of his arm and began dragging him away just as brother had done a short time before. “ _We should be going._ ”

 

After a moment the Lady of Light’s mental voice sang through his mind again. ‘ _Go with your friends, Elerossë. There is nothing for you here. Nothing to hold you, and nothing to take with you._ ’

 

Harry said nothing as he was pulled away from the death-filled clearing. But before leaving he waved his wand and made the boy’s corpse and any signs of its former presence disappear just as he had erased all trace of the boy’s comrades some time before. No physical evidence would ever be found of him, but his face and fate would undoubtedly haunt Harry’s mind for a long, long time. He shook his head slightly as he finally offered his foster-mother a faint reply, ‘ _The man is—and was—not nothing, Naneth. Having never gone to battle yourself, you may wish to consult with Adar about this before you make such judgments._ ’ Then he slammed his mental shields up as hard and far as they could go.

 

If she really wanted to, Galadriel would certainly be able to break through. She had many, many more centuries practice then he did. But she wouldn’t. And while he would feel bad later for treating her so coldly when she was only trying to help him, it wasn’t something he could help right now. Right now, he just needed to think. To be alone in his head and come to terms with what he had done.

 

~ * **_First Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Lótessë 5, 542_** * ~

 

“Welcome back, Captain! Lieutenants.” One of the watchmen greeted them with a salute. He obviously hadn’t been on duty too long, as the sun had only just set and that was when the shift changed occurred. “What news from the East?”

 

The Miriel’s remained silent as Harry sighed, shaking his head. “That’s for the King’s ears, my friend. Where is he?”

 

“The King took to his tent not to long ago,” Captain Aldous cut in before the guard could reply. He waived them to follow him before turning back the way he’d come from, towards the center of the camp where the King’s tent was stationed for his protection. “His Majesty left standing orders that you come to him immediately upon your return... though we did not expect it to be so soon.”

 

“We made good time,” Harry agreed noncommittally.

 

“Very good. Is your news important enough to rouse the other Captains while you report to the King?”

 

Harry thought for a moment, before shaking his head. “No. His Majesty will undoubtedly call a meeting in the morning, but we have nothing to fear in the near future.”

 

“Very good then,” the old Captain offered him a warm smile, as they came to a stop outside Turambar’s tent, which they could all clearly see was still lit from the inside. “Welcome back, Captain. Lieutenants. I’ll send one of the squires for refreshments while you report.”

 

“Thank you, Captain Aldous,” Harry replied with a nod, watching the old mortal make his way over to where one of the young squires stood waiting before returning his attention to the entrance to the King’s tent, where two guards were posted. When he raised an eyebrow at them, one turned slightly to pull the tent entrance open enough to call respectfully into the tent’s occupant.

 

“Forgive me, my Lord. Captain Hadrian and his brothers have returned.”

 

“Send them in,” Turambar ordered from within, his voice holding clear but pleasant surprise. The guards held the entryway open for the three to pass through, before sealing it behind them once more. “Captain Hadrian. Lieutenants Hama and Herall. Welcome back.”

 

“Thank you, My Lord,” all three replied in unison as they saluted Gondor’s monarch.

 

“At ease,” Turambar immediately ordered, before glancing at the Miriel’s. “Do either of you have anything of great import to add to your commander’s report?” When both shook their heads, he nodded. “Then you may take your leave. Go eat and rest.”

 

The brothers bowed before leaving the tent and Harry sighed as he was waived over to the sitting area he’d left not too many days before. “Captain Aldous sent one of your squires for refreshments.”

 

“Good,” Turambar approved, while pouring water into goblets for both of them and taking his seat, watching as ‘Hadrian’ followed suit and accepted one of the water goblets as he went. “What new have you, my friend?”

 

“We traveled eastward for many days before we found any sign of them. We found a small encampment with many wounded and managed to slay all of them, sparing one for interrogation.” Harry paused for a moment before shaking his head and continued. “The Easterling Tribes are currently fighting a massive civil war. Apparently their last central leader was overthrown and now the Tribes are fighting for supremacy.”

 

“So reinforcements won’t be coming any time soon.”

 

“No, my lord.” Harry confirmed with a nod. “The man we interrogated said that each of the tribes has more than a thousand warriors at their disposal, and there are more than a score of Tribes. But as long as they continue to fight each other...”

 

“They don’t have the men to fight us... Good, good.” Turambar nodded, clearly pleased by the news. After a moment he looked back at his captain and frowned slightly, “And you, Captain?”

 

Harry frowned, “My lord?”

 

“How do you fare?”

 

“...Well enough, my lord,” Harry replied, his voice firm. But he then wilted a bit under the King’s stern, silver gaze, and sighed. “Sometimes the actions that are necessary in war weight heavily on my mind.”

 

Turambar frowned, but nodded. “It happens to all of us, and even more so to the best... there was a reason I wanted to send more men with you, you know. Neither you, nor your brothers, have ever struck me as the type to...uh, handle interrogations easily.”

 

Harry laughed dryly, surprised by his wording. “Is there really such a type, my lord?”

 

“Disturbing as is to think of, they do exist.”

 

“I do not believe I should really like to have such men at my back.”

 

“Perhaps not,” Turambar agreed with another sigh, his eyes dark. “But they are necessary.”

 

Harry looked away for a moment, shaking his head after thinking that through and sighed. “I’m afraid that’s one thing we disagree on.”

 

Turambar blinked, clearly startled. “What? The necessity of interrogating our enemies for information? Surely—”

 

“Not that necessity, my lord. But that it might be necessary to employ men who actually enjoy doing so...” Harry shook his head. “Just because the acts are necessary, does not mean they should not be regretted.”

 

Both started as the King’s squire suddenly arrived, bearing a plate with various food-stuffs and wine. “My lord?”

 

Turambar nodded, waiving the boy in to the table at his side, then looked at Harry and indicated the other seat beside it. “You make a good point, my friend. But you must be famished.”

 

Harry sighed, but obediently took the seat and accepted a goblet of wine with a nod of thanks before watching the boy leave. Truth be told, he wasn’t remotely hungry. He hadn’t been for days. But after years of training under highly skilled healers, he knew he had to eat regardless. “Thank you, my lord.”

 

The King of Gondor nodded, and held his silence for several more minutes, while both picked at the bread and fruit the squire had brought them. “I know you are not wrong, my friend. But it is a difficult concept to consider while at war, and sure an impossible one to adhere to.”

 

Harry nodded in agreement, smiling sadly after he’d finished taking another sip of wine with the image of the man the Míriel brothers had executed for him drifting through his mind. 

 

“Would that such things were not necessary,” Turambar murmured, his tone as sad as Harry himself felt right then. “But we cannot change the past or present.”

 

“No,” Harry agreed sadly, finishing his goblet of wine with a long gulp. “We can only look and work for a better future...” After several long moments of silence, Harry rose and set his empty goblet on the table. “I find myself rather weary, my lord. May I retire?”

 

“Oh, of course, of course,” Turambar agreed with a nod. He spoke up a moment afterward, as Harry turned and stepped towards the door. “Hadrian?”

 

Harry turned back towards his friend, an eyebrow raised.

 

“For what little it may be worth,” Turambar murmured, holding his gaze steadily. “I thank you, for myself, for Gondor, and all of our men.”

 

Harry bowed in reply, before leaving the tent.

 

~ * **_House of Elrond, Imladris – Lótessë 24, 542_** * ~

 

Ránewen couldn’t help but smile as she ran a brush through her hair, looking around her room—the very set of chambers she’d always shared with Elerossë when visiting Imladris since their wedding—and seeing everything unpacked. Though she hadn’t brought much with her from the Golden Wood, she had brought everything she might need or miss—save her husband, of course—and even in his absence it seemed the change of scenery itself was enough to lift her spirits.

 

The journey alone had helped her, as her sister-in-law and everyone in their caravan hadn’t allowed her a moment alone to ‘languish in boredom and loneliness,’ as Celebrían put it. No, she spent every moment on the road in the company of another individual, each of whom had relentless sought to draw out her thoughts and feelings on a wide range of discussion topics and activities, until she simply forgot her perpetual brood.

 

Now, finally allowed a moment by herself in her brother-in-law’s house, she found that the dreary cloud that had hung over her spirits since her husband had gone to war was nearly gone. Oh, she knew it was still there. Merely thinking of Elerossë—of the wound he’d come home with a few weeks before, or of his melancholy mood of late—would summon it up again. But she had made a promise, and so she would continue to push it back as much as she could.

 

Ránewen glanced toward the door’s reflection in her mirror as a slightly timid, and familiar, knock came through it. “ _Enter._ ” She smiled as the door opened and her niece slipped through, a shy smile also gracing her face.

 

“ _Nana said you might like to visit the gardens, Nanethêl nîn,_ ” the younger elleth murmured, her sapphire-blue eyes bright and her smile cherry.

 

“Ai, _yes, I would love to. Hannon le, Arwen,_ ” Ránewen replied, a matching smile drawn to her face by the younger elleth’s enthusiasm. “ _Shall I fetch my cloak? And where is yours?_ ”

 

“ _You shan’t need it, Nanethêl nîn, it’s quite warm out tonight._ ”

 

Ránewen eyed her niece closely for several long moments before nodding, setting her brush down on the vanity and rising. “ _Very well then._ ” She moved towards the door, sparing her niece a raised eyebrow before passing through. “ _I do hope your brothers’ aren’t planning anything special to welcome me?_ ”

 

“ _I shouldn’t think so, Nanethêl nîn,_ ” Arwen replied, and then shrugged. “ _They wouldn’t tell me if they were, of course, but after the way Nanatôr nîn reacted the last time they, um, tried to prank you..._ ”

 

“ _One would think they might consider me off limits, yes,_ ” Ránewen nodded, then sighed and shook her head. “ _But this is, after all, the Gwenyn we’re talking about..._ ”

 

“ _That’s true,_ ” Arwen agreed, and then giggled, drawing a slightly suspicious look from her aunt, to which she shook her head. “ _I was just thinking of what Ada nîn will do to the Gwenyn if they are foolish enough to prank you too soon._ ”

 

Ránewen smiled, and chuckled herself. Yes, Elrond would undoubtedly respond rather poorly to his sons behavior if they were foolish enough to prank her before—or during—the banquet tonight. She was the guest of honor, after all, and had been brought to Elrond’s house out of a concern for her health.

 

Much as her beloved nephews surely loved a good prank, she had trouble believing the elflings—almost adults, extraordinarily enough—could be so foolish.

 

But, then, this was the Gwenyn...

 

~ * **_First Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Cermië 31, 542_** * ~

 

‘ _Happy birthday, ion nîn._ ’

 

Harry smiled as his mother’s voice echoed warmly through his mind. ‘ _You’re late, Nana. Is everything all right?_ ’ He asked, glancing at the rising sun.

 

‘ _Of course._ ’ Galadriel replied, her voice tinged with a little bit of exasperation. ‘ _I had hoped you’d have the sense to sleep through the night. I suppose I should have known better?_ ’

 

Harry shook his head, still smiling slightly. ‘ _If I didn’t wait till midnight for the start of my birthday I’d be breaking a very old tradition. And one that I started, which makes it all the worse!_ ’

 

‘ _Your father sends his greetings and well-wishes as well. I suggest you call your wife through your mirrors today, she misses you._ ’

 

‘ _She has settled well in Imladris, has she not?_ ’

 

‘ _So your sister assures me so. But she still misses you._ ’

 

‘ _And I miss her. But I am needed here._ ’

 

Galadriel did not reply immediately, instead allowing her disapproval to ring unvoiced for several seconds before she continued. ‘ _So you are. Turambar has grown accustom to your presence. And your powers._ ’

 

‘ _He knows nothing of my magical abilities._ ’

 

‘ _He knows you can make enemies speak when his best tortures cannot. And that you don’t even need to torture them – for long, at least – to do it. He knows you can sense attacks, or something of the sort. He knows you, and the Míriels, your supposed brothers, do not fall ill from any of the illnesses that fly through the camps. He knows you are probably better educated then he is. And he is very intelligent. He knows you are not who you say you are._ ’

 

‘ _Of course he does, Nana! How could he not? But he knows nothing of magic. If anything, he probably assumes I am a closer descendent to elf-kind then he, and that I therefore have closer relations to the Eldar. He has no reason to think more. I have used Veritaserum once, and he never saw that man, alive or dead. He himself can sense danger approaching, as many experienced warriors can to a degree, he probably assumes my elf-blood makes it easier for me. And that that very same blood protects me from most illnesses. He knows I have lived amongst Elves for at least some time, and may account my wisdom to that. But he has no reason to suspect magic._ ’ Harry protested, wincing as he realized his thoughts were taking a turn towards whining at her pressing concern. He quickly took a deep breath and released it, then another more slowly, before continuing more calmly. ‘ _He knows nothing we need worry about... He is my friend, or as close to that as he can be with all the secrets I keep from him._ ’

 

Galadriel’s reply was touched empathy and compassion, ‘ _Perhaps. But that is how it must be, if you are to remain safe on Middle Earth, so that you may eventually return to your own world, ion nîn._ ’

 

‘ _I know, Nana. I know._ ’ Harry sighed, and shook his head, then laid back on his bedroll with a sigh, closing his eyes in his darkened tent to continue his conversation with his far-off foster-mother. ‘ _I remember your vision, and the prophecy we both heard when I came here, quite clearly. And I know that I am taking great risk in coming here. But your mirror did not tell you that this was wrong, did it?_ ’

 

‘ _No. It did not._ ’

 

Harry nodded and pressed on, having known that this would be true if only because Galadriel, despite the reservations that she and Celeborn both shared, had relented and agreed to letting him go to war. ‘ _Surely, you know that you have no need to worry then._ ’

 

‘ _On the contrary, ion nîn,_ ’ Galadriel’s thoughts were now touched with clear disapproval that made Harry wince. ‘ _What my Mirror shows me, is merely possibilities. Not certainties. So I am free to worry as I please, as you can still come to harm at any time._ ’ She paused for a moment, before another thought came through. ‘ _And a mother always worries._ ’

 

‘ _Forgive me,_ ’ Harry sighed. ‘ _I did not mean—_ ’

 

‘ _I know, ion nîn. I know._ ’ Galadriel cut him off, and he had the strange mental picture of her sighing entering his mind as she continued. ‘ _Nevertheless, I can understand your being weary with having to defend your place in this war. I apologize for that._ ’

 

‘ _Hannon le, Nana,_ ’ Harry smiled, suppressing a yawn as it came up, then wincing when his mother called him on it.

 

‘ _You should be resting, ion nîn. We shall speak another time._ ’ Galadriel told him, her thoughts gentle and mild again. ‘ _For now, know that we miss you and that everyone wishes you the very best of birthdays today._ ’

 

‘ _Hannon le, Nana,_ ’ Harry repeated, smiling slightly as he continued. ‘ _Will you thank everyone for me?_ ’

 

‘ _Of course. Goodnight, Elerossë._ ’

 

‘ _Goodnight, Nana._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ada = Dad (father, informal)  
> Ammë = Mom (mother, informal)  
> “Be iest lîn.” = “As you wish.”  
> Daer-Naneth = Grandmother (or literally: great-mother)  
> Elleths = Female Elves  
> “Hannon le” = Thank you  
> Heru = Lord  
> Ian = Daughter  
> Ion = Son  
> Melda = Lover/Lover  
> Mellon = Friend  
> Namárië = Farewell  
> Nana = Mom (mother, informal)  
> Nanatôr = Uncle (literally, mother’s brother)  
> Naneth = Mother  
> Nanethêl = Aunt (literally, mother’s sister)  
> Nîn = My (indicates possession – the speaker indicating that the previously mentioned word—usually a person—is theirs in such-and-such a way: following “melda” it means “my love,” following “ian” it “my daughter.”  
> Telain = Treehouse. Or, more specifically, the homes the Elves of Lothlorien build for themselves in the bows of the golden trees, earning themselves the name “Galadhrim,” which means “tree people.”  
> Thêlian = Niece (literally, sister’s daughter)  
> Tithen = Little (usually used to refer to a small child affectionately)  
> Tôrvesse = sister-in-law (literally, brother’s-wife)  
> Uma = Yes


	3. Chapter 3

**Elda Kundu, Kurutar**

** There And Back Again: Part I – A Wizard’s Tale **

A Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings Crossover

** Turambar – A Friend, A King & A Mortal **

**Part III**

By Jess S

~ * **_First Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Narvinyë 17, 549_** * ~

 

“How fare the negotiations, my friend?”

 

Harry sighed as he rose from his respectful bow—ignoring the king’s rolling eyes at the purportedly ‘unnecessary’ gesture of respect in this casual setting—and sank into the chair across from his mortal friend with a grace that would certainly be nonexistent due to his weariness, if it were not already a long-ingrained habit. “The King of Rhovanion is interested, but wary still. His people have lost much in the recent raids.”

 

“Had he joined forces with us when we first approached him four years ago, his people would have fared better.”

 

“Perhaps,” Harry shrugged noncommittally. “But the fact remains that King Vindovia is far more concerned with feeding and sheltering his people then in raising an army. He has to be.” [1]

 

Turambar was silent for several long moments before he sighed and shook his head. “So what is it you want me to do that you would not suggest in front of your fellow Captains?”

 

Harry shrugged again; he was pleased that his clever friend had noticed how quiet he’d been at the earlier meeting and come to the correct conclusions on that silence but, he wasn’t surprised either. “The Rhovanions have plenty of wood at their disposal, and more then enough hands to scrap it all together. The winter weather has not been too fierce as of late, so they should not have too much trouble ensuring they’re sheltered from the worst of the winter’s bite in a few weeks time.”

 

“But?”

 

“But,” Harry nodded, “more then half of the harvest that was supposed to carry them through the winter was destroyed or stolen by the raiders. Over the last few years our men, our enemies and the Rhovanions themselves have hunted the nearby lands all but bare. Many of King Vindovia’s people will certainly starve in the coming months.”

 

“Unless we send them aid.” Turambar nodded slowly, “For which Vindovia is sure to be most grateful.”

 

“And all the more likely to then raise his army to join ours as soon as the spring planting is completed in a little over three months time.”

 

“Which is when we will need the reinforcements,” Turambar nodded again. Then he sighed before pointing out, “Many of the other Captains won’t like it.”

 

“Many of the younger Captains don’t care about ending the war as they haven’t made history, or similar nonsense, yet. And the older ones that might object would only be doing so out of spite, unduly angry with our potential allies for not taking part in a war that was not their own at an earlier point in time.”

 

“The Easterlings were invading their lands, just as they were ours.”

 

“Ah, but the Easterlings had been raiding their lands, and pushing on their borders, for centuries before the Army of Gondor set up camp in them to do war with an old enemy.”

 

“True enough,” Turambar sighed, looking down at the disheartening maps they’d been reviewing at the earlier meeting. The Easterlings’ new army was more active this time of year then the first army had been, as things had often gone quiet when the weather turned cold and dark. But even these more determined opponents wouldn’t risk sending large forces away from shelter and food during the storms that would soon be here. “Was our crop surplus high enough to cover this venture?”

 

“Yes.” Harry immediately confirmed. “As was Rohan’s. And, as you know, the Elves have been increasingly open to trade of late.”

 

“So they have,” the King nodded again, going quiet for several long moments before nodding firmly. “Make it happen.”

 

~ * ** _Rhovanion Capital – Nénimë 2, 549_** * ~ [6]

 

Harry was equal parts grateful and frustrated. Grateful that King Turambar was wise enough to see beyond ‘Hadrian’s’ supposed youth and appoint him leader of the diplomatic envoy to the king of Rhovanion. And frustrated by King Vindovia’s mulish expression. Now, he’d be more than happy to ignore the expression if it were not an accurate depiction of royal’s current mood and mindset; but, unfortunately, it was.

 

No matter how appealing Turambar’s offer was logically, generation-old grudges were not easily set aside, and even less easily overcome. And this king had little interest in sending his men to war with an enemy they regularly drove off anyway. It was apparently a common belief that the Easterlings’ recent raids had only worsened because of Gondor’s nearby presence, making the long, harsh winter Gondor’s fault.

 

“Surely, Your Majesty, even if your people are not in need of the food we can provide—”

 

Though everyone knew that the king’s people didn’t have enough to survive the winter without aid…

 

“—your people can recover what strength they’ve lost much more quickly without constant harassment from the East.”

 

“Gondor never cared to help us with the Easterlings before,” the ‘old’ king pointed out for what might well have been the tenth time.

 

Though Vindovia should probably be respected as an elder of his race, it was hard for one of the Eldar—which was what Harry truly was—to think of a man that hadn’t yet seen his seventh decade as ‘old,’ despite the fact that most of his people referred to him as such. This seemed all the more odd, of course, when he was compared to the long-lived and still youthful king of Gondor, who—thanks to his Dúnedain heritage—was more than twice the age of this gray-haired, bent and wrinkled king.

 

Though many of the Gondorians that had come with him—most of them nobles and officers—shifted restlessly at the repeated, vaguely insulting complaint, Harry kept his own expression completely neutral and his body calm. He shrugged lightly before replying, “We’ve already agreed that’s so, good king. It doesn’t change the fact that we’re here now. We need your help and you need ours.”

 

Many of the Rhovanions started bristling at that, but Harry was quick to continue before any could comment.

 

“And the fact also remains that action is in your best interest as well.”

 

After several long, tense moment, Vindovia nodded, his keen hazel eyes still locked with ‘Captain Hadrian’s’ green gaze as he replied.

 

Unlike most of his court, Vindovia hadn’t looked to any of the older officers or the noble-born men when the Gondorian convoy had first come some weeks before. He’d recognized and accepted ‘Hadrian’ as the leader of the convoy with remarkable ease. Those instincts, and the fact that Vindovia clearly _did_ care for his people, had earned him no small amount of respect in Harry’s mind. And even after hours of facing the man’s unhelpful stubbornness the Eldar hadn’t forgotten that.

 

“So it would seem,” Vindovia allowed, ignoring the unhappy grumblings of a few of his advisors. “But there is only so much help we can offer. Or accept.”

 

Harry nodded, already well aware of the Rhovanions honor code and beliefs about balance. It was part of the reason he was in charge of the convoy. It’d only taken Turambar a couple questions to recognize that his strange, right-hand man understood the Rhovanions’ ways just as well as—if not better than—Turambar himself did. And most of the other Captains weren’t even really aware of cultural differences. But Harry not only knew of it, he _understood_ and _respected_ it.

 

It only made sense, after all. What you get should be balanced by what you give. That was fair.

 

“Of course,” Harry agreed. “King Turambar knows it would be unreasonable to expect any immediate aid from your people. At least not until after the last frost, perhaps after the planting season is finished or even as late as the harvest itself; but His Majesty believed you might appreciate our help sooner.”

 

To some, it might seem strange to credit King Turambar with all of Harry’s own ideas. Ideas that he’d recommended and received approval for. But Turambar was the King of Gondor. He was Gondor. And that was whom Harry was here representing. The ideas of a strange man from nowhere were worthless without royal backing. And it wasn’t like he could present his ideas as belonging to a Prince of the Elves.

 

One of Vindovia’s advisors spoke up then, his snotty tone drawing more than a few frowns, “The court does not—”

 

Harry kept his face neutral even as Vindovia cut his own subject off.

 

“Gamir,” the King of Rhovanion shook his head when his advisor turned to him, then frowned as the somewhat younger man foolishly continued.

 

“But, My Lord—”

 

“Enough!” Vindovia glared at the man till his defiance finally wilted, and his eyes turned back to the Gondorian’s. “Captain Hadrian, you may tell your king that we would be most grateful for whatever aid Gondor can send us. And that we will respond accordingly, after the harvest.”

 

Harry bowed smoothly, silently sending a subtle wave of silencing magic behind him to prevent any protests his fellow captains might have. He knew the king was speaking truthfully, and that he would honor his word and send troops to help Gondor as soon as he could reasonably allow. “On behalf of Gondor and King Turambar, we thank Your Majesty most gratefully.”

 

“No thanks are necessary, Captain. Though Gondor, of course, has ours as well.”

 

~ * **_Third Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Víressë 15, 549_** * ~

 

Harry suppressed a wince as the Easterling-prisoner collapsed onto his knees with Gondorian soldiers pushing him down.

 

The Easterling had been spotted nearly two weeks before during one of the cavalries frequent patrols of the areas around their encampments. Three of his seven companions had been killed, while three others were also captured. Since then, the four prisoners had been subject to the hospitality of the Third Encampment’s Captain, Torres: the young lord of some southern holding. By the time Turambar had received news of the capture, one of the prisoners had already died during Torres’ interrogations, and two more had apparently died while the Royal Council was in route to the Third Encampment.

 

Only this man remained, and that was only thanks to the expertise Harry’s mother and brother-in-law had seen fit to give him in training and a few secreted spells. Of course, another spell had been to keep Turambar’s mind off the fact that Harry had yet more unexpected skills, and a part of him doubted any kind of magic could successfully deter his clever friends stubbornness and curiosity. Though, to be fair, Turambar had already known that Harry possessed some skills as a healer, and as he supposedly lived near Rivendell and was an Elf-friend, it wasn’t something that was too surprising.

 

At the moment, however, his friend was distracted by their ‘guest’s’ current condition, and he was no more pleased than Harry himself was, though probably for different reasons. While torture in general disturbed Harry, it had a much more predominant place in the world Turambar was raised in. And that was the major difference in their background that led to the difference of opinion. Whereas the necessary evil had played its part in the wars of Middle Earth—especially in the Mortal World, and Gondor, often plagued by Orcs—Harry was raised in the Muggle World of Earth and then by the Elves. Though _Hermione’s Tome_ had taught him that the Wizarding World’s view of torture wasn’t really comparable to the Muggle World’s, to the Elves there were few more terrible taboos to break.

 

After all, the Orc-peoples that plagued their world were once Elf-kind. Before Morgorth Bauglir twisted and destroyed their forms in cruel torture, driving their spirits to depart from their Immortal coils and leaving their broken bodies behind to become a hideous, hateful and hurtful race of horrifying enemies. To the Eldar, to torture someone was one way of imitating Morgorth, and there were few things more immoral to their people.

 

Despite his terrible state of being and circumstances, the Easterling was either a testament to a great strength of will or remarkably effective brainwashing as he glared up at Turambar and the surrounding captains.

 

The King of Gondor didn’t bother with any kind of greeting or other pleasantries, instead he just raided an eyebrow at the filthy man, “We would know what your people seek here in Gondor,” he opened with, though it was something he already knew from ‘Hadrian’s’ report many months earlier.

 

Still, it was often better to start with what you knew. If the prisoner _did_ talk, starting with something they already knew the answer to would help them read him as he answered. Help them learn how to tell when he was lying and when he was telling the truth.

 

But, of course, the younger man had no interest in being helpful to them, despite the improvement it might bring to his sorry state. And though his mouth opened in response, it was only to spit at the king.

 

One of Harry’s eyebrows rose at the man’s sheer nerve, but he winced as Captain Torres’ first lieutenant—Barkley or Barkoff or something like that—immediately struck the man down. He suppressed the urge to intervene, as he’d only just brought the man back from near-death the day before, but had to sigh in relief as Turambar spoke again.

 

“Hold, Lieutenant Bartoff,” the king commanded, and was of course immediately obeyed. His silver eyes looked into their prisoner’s dark, hateful glare and after a moment he sighed. “You have nothing to gain from your silence, man. Only further pain.” He indicated Lieutenant Bartoff and the other Gondorian soldiers standing nearby, who were all clearly more than willing to continue beating the enemy soldier. After a long moment of silence he asked, “What do you seek here in Gondor?”

 

It only took a few moments of the prisoner’s hateful, defiant silence to break Captain Torres’ clearly limited patience. “This one will not speak without further provocation, milord. If I may—”

 

“If I may, Your Majesty,” Harry cut the other captain off quickly; ignoring the hostile glare the competitive man sent his way as Turambar immediately gave Harry his full attention. “My lieutenants and I have had far more success than most with prisoners before; perhaps we would have better luck with him?”

 

Turambar held his gaze for another long moment, and then nodded, gesturing towards the man. “Of course.”

 

“I wish you luck, Hollin,” Captain Torres said, his tone just mild enough to be truthful, but completely contradicted by the hatred in his eyes. “In all the time my men and I, myself, have spent with him has said very little and all of it gibberish.” [2]

 

Harry tilted his head slightly to the side, one eyebrow rising again as he did so. A horrible idea dawning, and making his tone sharp. “And what has he said?”

 

Torres’s eyebrows snapped together and he sneered, “I just told you, nothing but gibberish.”

 

Harry glanced at the other men around the room, most of whom were Torres’s. “Can any of you remember precisely what he has said?”

 

Torres glared at him, but under the king’s sharp gaze he finally waved one of his lieutenant’s forward. “Gambrey, you spent the most time with this one, didn’t you?”

 

Lieutenant Gambrey—a middle-aged man with the typical dark hair and eyes set in pale features of the men of Gondor—nodded. “I did, my lord—my lords.” He abruptly switched the last addressed from singular to plural, as if only just realizing he should be addressing the room as a whole. Surprising, given that the king was watching as he spoke. But then again Harry couldn’t remember Torres calling on this particular lieutenant in front of the others Captains and the king before, either.

 

“What did he say, exactly?” Harry persisted, not entirely sure why he felt he needed to know but knowing it was generally a bad idea to ignore his instincts.

 

The lieutenant winced, but obediently attempted to recite what he could recall, “Uh, it was something like ‘ ** _This aga mistok_** ’ and ‘ ** _Eve’ iff I know at ooo ant, ooo no’ und’and me, an’vay_** ’, I think. Sir.”

 

Harry didn’t bother stopping his features from twisting into a grimace, then shot back, “You mean, ‘ ** _This was a mistake,_** ’ and ‘ ** _Even if I knew what you wanted, you don’t understand me, anyway_** ’?” He shook his head in disgust as everyone—including the prisoner—stared at him in shock as one of the harshest of the Eastern dialects clacked out of his mouth with the ease only his many decades of tutelage could bring. “You idiots.”

 

“Captain?” Turambar frowned at him, but it clearly wasn’t in displeasure but a mix of confusion and surprise.

 

Harry knew he should be addressing the king directly, but decided instead to give way to emotion that he could later blame on his supposed ‘youth’ and instead focused on Torres who was glaring at him, not taking any pains to conceal just how offended he was on the prisoner’s behalf. “You tortured this man for days without once attempting to confirm he spoke the Common Tongue? Or having someone on hand that spoke his language so that if he—or any of his unfortunate comrades—did talk you’d know what they were saying?!”

 

“I speak the Eastern Tongue well enough!” Torres snapped back, shaking is head furiously at being rebuked in front of the king by a man who wasn’t even his social equal outside of the military. “That’s not it!”

 

“You may understand one of the Eastern Tongues,” Harry allowed, nodding at the surprised look that crossed almost all of the mortals’ faces at his words. Except for Turambar and a few of the older Captains, most of the men were clearly stunned. “Yes, one. But though the Eastern Tribes—all twenty seven of them, that we know of—are generally united under one to three leaders, they are still separate entities. Among them I know at least eleven different dialects are spoken—several of which sound nothing like the others. And only members of their very small leadership-caste speak most of the different dialects. The common man might know a few more than his own native one, from other areas his people interact with frequently, but certainly not all of them!” the disguised wizard shook his head again in disgust. “How many of the other men were yelling similar ‘gibberish’ as you tortured them to death?” Without giving the mortals a chance to respond, he returns his gaze to the king’s serious silvery one again. “May I?”

 

“Certainly,” Turambar nodded immediately, the clear displeasure that was ever-so-slightly lining his handsome jaw carefully absent from his voice. “And please extend our apologies.”

 

Harry nodded and glanced at the nearby guards, “Bring him a chair.”

 

To their credit, though they were clearly startled by his command, the guards immediately obeyed. One dragged an unoccupied chair into the center of the circle the officers were seated in while two more grabbed the prisoner by the shoulders and pulled him up off the floor before setting him back down in the chair.

 

The Easterner, who had been staring at Harry since he’d heard the ‘Gondorian’ speak his language, didn’t really react to the guards actions or his new circumstances. But Harry was pleased to see that the man’s eyes didn’t look quite as hateful and despondent as they had mere moments before. Now he looked a little—but only a little—hopeful.

 

The guards moved back a bit; leaving the prisoner a small semblance of freedom, which would be lost if he tried to move at all, but should at least make him feel a little bit better.

 

Harry leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and his head lightly atop slightly intertwined fingers. His facial expression was easily schooled into an expression of ever-so-slight compassion over regal neutrality as the prisoner—who couldn’t be more than twenty, if that—watched him. “ ** _Gondor-King,_** ” he inclined his head slightly towards Turambar, though his eyes remained on the watchful captive. “ ** _Would like you to know that your extended ill-treatment was not at his orders. Gondor extends its apologies for the misconduct of its junior officers._** ”

 

After several moments of long, tense silence, the youth nodded, but said nothing.

 

Not really expecting a reply, Harry remained unbothered as he continued. “ ** _We would know why you came here?_** ”

 

The young man stared at him for several long moments again, before he licked his lips nervously, and then opened his mouth, speaking hesitantly, “ ** _Th-There were seven of us._** ”

 

Harry nodded, not letting the sadness he felt at the youth’s hesitation show. “ ** _Yes._** ”

 

“ ** _I... I am all that is left?_** ”

 

Now Harry did let some of that sadness show as he nodded. “ ** _Yes._** ”

 

The young man’s eyes squeezed tightly shut in an expression of clear emotional anguish, and his head bowed forward.

 

“What did he say?” Torres demanded loudly, making the prisoner jump.

 

Harry shot the Gondorian noble a quick glare. He knew from the way Torres quickly quailed back that Turambar was also glaring at him, so he turned his attention back to the grieving prisoner. “ ** _What is your name?_** ”

 

“ ** _Korak Korin-son._** ”

 

~ * **_First Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Víressë 17, 549_** * ~

 

“Even if this man speaks the truth—”

 

“His name is Korak, and he does,” Harry cut the elder captain off gently. Much as he respected the eldest of the mortal commanders, he was not willing to let that fact be questioned. He shrugged when the other captains looked at him: though Torres and those of this peers that also didn’t like ‘Hadrian’ were, of course, glaring. “If nothing else, the story is too far fetched to be anything other than true.”

 

“Most would say far-fetched tales are more likely to be false,” Captain Aldous interjected gently, his pale eyes kind.

 

‘Hadrian’ nodded in acceptance, but then raised an eyebrow at the king, “I do not believe I’ve ever been wrong in matters such as these, Majesty.”

 

In truth, he _knew_ he never had been. Because unlike the other commanders here, who were dependent on their judgment and ability to read people alone as a means of deciding whether someone—especially an enemy who’d been tortured for days on end—was lying, Harry could use Veritaserum and honesty-spells, or even just look right into the mortal’s mind and see the truth. What they could only guess, he  knew.

 

“No,” Turambar agreed with a nod, “I don’t believe you have either.” After several long moments of silence, he sighed. “Still, I am reluctant to send one of my best commanders into enemy territory with no guards and only a supposedly-former enemy turned would-be ally as a guide.”

 

“A larger force could draw far too much attention,” one of the captains Harry didn’t know very well—Lenross, commander of the twenty-third company—pointed out.

 

“But our having killed nearly their entire party of ambassadors is likely to engender the desire for vengeance in some.” One of Aldous’s lieutenants—whose name Harry couldn’t even guess—spoke up.

 

“Our failure and offense,” Harry pointed out quickly, “May only be forgiven by at least several shows of good faith.”

 

“But they’ll want us to give up all the territory we’ve gained!” Torres objected loudly, a seemingly permanent glare-and-scowl fixed on his face. “We—”

 

“No, they don’t want that.” Harry interrupted quickly, allowing a clear note of irritation to enter his voice. “They don’t have the military power to defend that much land on their own.” He met Turambar’s eyes again as he continued. “They’ve already said they’re willing to swear allegiance to Gondor, provided they are allowed to live according to their own customs in protected-lands after the war is won. They’ve said right up front that they’re willing to pay the same annual taxes all the holdings of Gondor pay to afford such protections, and that their military forces—and vast network of spies among the Easterling Tribes—will be at Gondor’s disposal for as long as it is of use during the war.”

 

“So our would-be-ally—Korak, was it?—claims,” the king recognized with another nod. He raised his hand to forestall any more arguments, then after several long moments of silence he sighed and nodded again. “And when will your guide be fit to travel, Captain Hadrian?”

 

“Hopefully in two weeks time, Majesty, perhaps as little as ten days, depending on his strength of will,” Harry replied immediately, his tone confident. For even after just a few decades as a student of both Galadriel and Elrond in the healing arts, he was very proficient at it. Magic helped, of course, when he had the chance to use it. But that was only for mending the wounds themselves, righting broken bones and whatnot. Recovering their strength was entirely up to the injured individual after the fact. Though he knew more than a few potions and tonics that could help with that, too.

 

The king nodded again, “Very well. We shall entrust his care and safety to you. Do what you can to speed his recovery. His people are likely to be worried at the seemingly long silence from their ambassadors, and the return of only one of them will not make your negotiations with them easier.” Looking around he told the other commanders. “I will hear suggestions on our part in these negotiations over the next week, but Captain Hadrian and Ambassador Korak are not to be bothered. Is that understood?”

 

As could be expected, a chorus of affirmatives answered the weary king and drew the meeting to a close.

 

~ * **_First Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Náríë 10, 549_** * ~

 

‘ _Are you certain this is a wise course of action, ion nîn?_ ’

 

 ‘ _As certain as I can ever be, Nana._ ’ Harry shook his head at his Naneth’s query even as he let half his attention focus on setting up his writing supplies. ‘ _If the war is to end anytime soon, it must be done._ ’

 

‘ _But why not let the young king send someone else? He doesn’t even want you to go._ ’

 

‘ _I have numerous advantages any other would lack, Nana._ ’

 

‘ _Which he knows nothing about._ ’

 

‘ _He knows my ‘brothers’ and I have scouted enemy camps before without being detected. By his assumption on that count, if any stood a chance of completing this mission unscathed it would be us. And the seven Tribes we have as allies can only help us._ ’

 

The meeting with the minority-faction of Easterling leaders had gone about as Harry had expected it to. Many had understandably been offended by the cruel end most of their ambassadors had met, but most had also been surprisingly understanding. Apparently many of the elder leaders had expected difficulty in accepting that some of the Easterlings might be willing to join forces with Gondor, and the wisest among them had known that the group they’d sent could have easily been seen as a group of enemy-scouts, which is what had happened. All in all, they were much more forgiving than Harry himself thought he could ever be, and now they were allies of Gondor.

 

While the majority of their tribes were slowly migrating behind the protection of the Gondorian lines, many of their soldiers were now acting as highly useful spies in the Easterling military camps. Apparently, the Tribes were also still much more divided then they’d believed before. Though the minority of seven Tribes that had come to them were the minority, there were two more factions still warring for supreme power over the Tribes: one in command of eleven Tribes and the other of nine Tribes that roughly equaled the same number of soldiers as a whole. But it was only a matter of time before one prevailed: probably, according to their new allies’ elders, through assassination or other such trickery.

 

Thus, they’d been presented with the opportunity to pick whom they’d be facing in battle within the next few years. The Tribes that had chosen to come to Gondor didn’t like either leader at all: apparently both were highly prejudiced against them, mostly because the minority were the scholars and finer craftsmen of the East, whereas the majority that often dominated the tribes were more adequately described as warmongering nomads, who had little interest in the arts and philosophies the seven rogue tribes clung to.

 

But the leader of the nine Tribes—Arat si-Sha—was supposedly a much better military leader and much more likely to eventually prevail. Apparently the only reason his adversary—Berdan sa-Sern—had more allies was because he had had more familial relations among other tribes. It didn’t really make sense to Harry, since it sounded like si-Sha and sa-Sern were actually second-cousins, but as far as Gondor was concerned any dissent among their enemies was a good thing.

 

The Lady of Light had remained silent for several long moments before she issued her true protests against the task to come. ‘ _You are not an assassin. Nor are the brothers Míriel._’

 

‘ _I’ve killed before. Orcs, Goblins, Spiders and, more recently of course, Men._ ’

 

‘ _In war, battles and self-defense. Assassination is something else entirely._ ’

 

‘ _It is no less necessary._ ’ He rebuked, while taking one of his sharper knives out to carefully sharpen his quill with a few quick strokes, before setting it aside as he sought out an ink well.

 

‘ _Perhaps. But you were greatly pained by the execution of the defenseless man of the East you disarmed and interrogated before. Do you truly believe you will fare so much better with having to executing a defenseless man with your own hands? Be it by a blade in your hand or the magic you can cast? For in order for this to work, this man will have to be taken completely unawares, in the utmost secrecy possible, with no chance to defend himself, yes?_ ’

 

‘ _It must be done. And it must be done right. Which may or may not be while he’s asleep or awake, be it by blade, poison or my magic._ ’ Harry sighed, then shook his head and continued quickly before she could. ‘ _I need to go, Naneth. I want to send a letter to Ránewen before I leave in the morning, so I have to write it now._ ’

 

‘ _Very well, ion nîn. Be safe._ ’

 

‘ _I will, Nana._ ’ Harry sighed again as he sensed his mother’s formidable mental presence retreat. He knew she was only worried for him, and that she was right to be. He didn’t expect the coming task to be at all easy. But he’d sworn to see this war through to the end, and he wanted it to end soon. Which meant he had to do something like he was setting out to do tomorrow.

 

He glanced at the smallest of the trunks in that belonged to him, which he knew contained a draught his wife wouldn’t be happy to hear him even thinking of brewing, let alone taking. But he may very well need it to get through what he would soon have to do.

 

Finally ready to actually write, Harry sat down at his makeshift desk and then closed his eyes. He had no doubt that his wife would agree full-heartedly with his mother on this matter. And he didn’t want to worry her any more than he already was by being away at war, so where he was headed tomorrow and why certainly shouldn’t fit into his letter.

 

Opening his eyes, he peered intently at the blank parchment, then sighed as he dipped his quill into the ink well and then started to write.

 

_My Dearest Ránewen,_

_It has only been a few months since our last meeting, and though months generally mean little to the Eldar’s frame of mine, I find each one more painful than the last. You may rest assured that I shall have little desire to set out on any adventures such as this for some time to come. Once this one finally ends. When we are together again, I have no intention of being parted from you for any length of time. I may be your constant shadow for quite a while thereafter. You may soon find yourself quite tired of my presence._

_If I were to go off to war again, I’m afraid I’d have to take you with me. As I could never do that, obviously I can’t go off to war again!_

_I thought that might make you smile._

_I miss your smile. And your laughter._

_It’s funny the things you end up missing. I knew, of course, that I would miss you. But I didn’t think I’d miss that annoying bird that always starts chirping right outside our window long before sunrise. Do you know if anyone has shot him, yet? I hope not. And not because I want to do it, I really do miss the little pest. Though I think you may be right, as the birds are not immortals, this must be a family of birds that all take after their original, annoying ancestor. But I still miss them._

_Though obviously nowhere near as much as I miss you._

_How are your lessons in Imladris coming? Elrond has said you’re progressing well. I’m sure that means you’ve long since surpassed me. Though as a student of Elrond—and a wizard—my skills are far beyond most of those at Gondor’s disposal, save for those in the White City’s House of Healing. You know the healing arts are not really my forte._

_But_

 

Harry stopped as several pairs of feet halted outside his tent. He shook his head and rose, knowing only one man who would visit him that needed bodyguards. “Come in, Your Majesty.”

 

The King shook his head at him as he pushed his way through the tent flap, “Really, my friend. Is it so difficult for you to address me by my given name outside of court and war councils?”

 

Rising from his unnecessary but polite bow—Turambar didn’t know it, but the brief bow he’d always given him was exactly the bow an Elven prince was suppose to offer to a foreign king—Harry shook his head. “No my friend. But royal friends can be so fickle. One must be sure that their spirits are good, before they risk offending them.”

 

Turambar laughed, smiling even as he shook his head, “Perhaps that is wise. Though you would be far safer from my ‘fickle’ moods if you would only accept some of the titles I’ve offered you.”

 

“I have no need of them.”

 

“So you say,” the King shook his head. “But the life of an aristocrat really isn’t all that difficult to adapt to. I’m sure your lady wouldn’t mind the few responsibilities she might gain. And no matter how much she prefers the country, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a few visits to court. And I _know_ you would adapt well to any responsibilities you gained.”

 

Harry sighed, “I’ve already promised I would bring Raina to court after the war.”

 

“You have indeed, and I plan on holding you to it. How fares your lady?”

 

“Well enough,” Harry shrugged. “She returned to her training in the healing arts a short time ago. I know she misses me, but she is amongst friends.”

 

“That is good. I take it you’re writing to her again?” the king speculated, silver eyes darting momentarily to the letter Harry was penning before returning to his officer.

 

“Yes, I promised her frequent correspondence before I left for war.” Harry shrugged. “And I always try to keep my word, especially to my wife.”

 

“Very sensible, though you might want to consider training more falcons for Gondor after the war. I know many of the men—myself included—envy your weekly letters from home. At the very least, you must train one for me, or my lady will never let me hear the end of it.”

 

Harry chuckled softly, “I would be honored, my friend.”

 

Turambar nodded, “Then I shall speak to you before you leave in the morning. Give my regards to the Lady Raina.”

 

“Raina is not a lady of Gondor,” Harry remarked, ignoring yet another hint at the king’s wish to make the captain a nobleman. “But I shall extend your regards nonetheless.”

 

“I’d dearly like to change that, my friend.”

 

“I am aware of that, Your Majesty.”

 

Turambar rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly as he turned, glancing behind Harry for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “There are times I do wish that Rivendell was not quite so far away from the White City,” he shook his head. “Given the apparent generosity of their nature. They’ve certainly taught you well.”

 

Harry blinked, honestly surprised by the comment. “Th-Thank you, my friend.”

 

The King shook his head, “You’ve demonstrated on countless occasions that your education is equal or superior to all of my noblemen and captains. I know you claim the elves are generous and love to teach those willing to learn, but you still must have been a very apt pupil.”

 

“Your Majesty?”

 

“I was tutored by the very best scholars my father could find. All of them mortal men, but wise ones.” Turambar shook his head. “And I know only a few words in one of the forms of Elvish. Certainly not enough to write a letter to a loved one in the Elves’ script.” He cocked his head to the side while Harry fought the urges to turn to look at the letter or start swearing. “I take it your lady can read it, as well?”

 

Slowly Harry nodded, biting back the urge to wince at his mistake. He’d never shown anyone his letters from home before, or left any out. He hadn’t thought about the Elvish writing beyond the fact that no one here would be able to read it, thus making him willing to write more. He hadn’t given a thought to just how superiorly educated that might make him look to the mortal men that believed him to be a youth of twenty-and-some-odd-years. “Yes, we’ve been fortunate enough to learn much together.”

 

“So I see,” The King nodded, glancing towards the door. “We will go over your plans again in the morning.”

 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Harry offered his customary bow. “Sleep well.”

 

“I shall try; you do the same, Captain Hadrian.”

 

After the far-too observant king had left, taking his guards with him, Harry turned back to his letter, sighing as he saw that it was, indeed—of course—in Elvish. After making a mental note to be more careful in the future, he dismissed the worries from his mind.

 

He already knew from experience that though the Gondorian king was a very observant, smart and curious fellow, he was also supremely honorable, an excellent judge of character and very loyal to his friends. And ‘Captain Hadrian,’ no matter how mysterious the king found him, had quickly moved past being an intriguing puzzle in the king’s eyes. Now he was more than an enigma that was fun to try and solve, he was also a friend and a very useful officer.

 

The King was no threat to him.

 

...Though that didn’t mean he was ever going to let his parents find out about this.

 

~ * ** _Cara Galadhon, Lothlórien –_** ** _Náríë 30, 549_** * ~

 

_By the time Harry had managed to escape Madam Pomfrey to make his way down to the end-of-year feast, the Great Hall was already full. Slytherin had, according to Hermione, won the House Cup for the seventh year in row, and the Hall was decked out in green and silver, with Slytherin’s serpent stretched across a banner that covered the wall behind the High Table._

Harry watched the Great Hall fall silent as his younger self entered.

The nice Wizarding robes—his Hogwarts uniform, spelled clean and fit by Madam Pomfrey a short time before—didn’t make him look quite as scrawny and small as he did when he was wearing his cousin’s cast-offs. But Harry had always been particularly small and skinny for his age, with knobby knees, a thin face and jet-black hair over bright-green eyes. If not for his fame, and the trouble it seemed to draw him to within the Wizarding world, he wasn’t the kind of boy a huge crowd would generally be expected to fall silent for.

 

Though time hadn’t ever seemed to touch him on Arda—something the Eldar had never been able to fully explain to their satisfaction, but had grown to accept and appreciate as it meant Harry was still with them centuries later than he otherwise would have been—that apparently hadn’t meant that damage caused by malnutrition and a generally poor upbringing couldn’t be corrected. After years under the care of the elves, what damage his upbringing with the Dursleys’ had wrought on him had been repaired. He frequently felt a bit short, normally surrounded by the elves, who were all very tall. But Harry now towered over his ten-year-old self by more than a foot. And several of those inches of height were gained here on Arda, not on Earth.

 

Harry couldn’t suppress a small smile as his younger self nervously made his way to the Gryffindor table, taking his seat between Ron and Hermione and trying to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at him.

The jabbering died away as Dumbledore arrived a moment later, undoubtedly having been just on the other side of the teachers’ entrance, awaiting Harry’s arrival. Not that young Harry would have jumped to the conclusion, too thankful for the effect the Headmaster’s entrance had, as his peers’ excited babble died away.

_“Another year gone!” Dumbledore called cheerfully, arms spread wide as if to figuratively embrace the whole hall. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer to get them nice and empty before next year starts.” He paused to let the appreciative chuckles die down with a nod. “Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.”_

_A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table._

Harry shook his head at the sour look he saw young Harry sending the Slytherin table, fixed on Draco Malfoy, his childhood rival of long ago, who was banging his goblet on the table, a sight Harry could remember sickening his younger self.

 

And therefore all the more amusing to him now.

 

To think, there was a time when such a petty grudge was worth so much energy.

_“Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” said Dumbledore. “However, recent events must be taken into account.”_

Truthfully, Harry felt it wasn’t a good move on the Headmaster’s part, to put off the awarding of points to so late a date. Harry would even go so far to call it unkind. Perhaps even cruel as the room stilled and the young Slytherins’ smiles faded a little.

_“Ahem,” said Dumbledore. “I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes... First – to Mr. Ronald Weasley—”_

_Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with bad sunburn._

_“—for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”_

_The Gryffindors cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other Prefects, “My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall’s giant chess set!”_

_At last there was silence again, and Dumbledore continued. “Second—to Miss Hermione Granger: for use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”_

_Hermione buried her face in her arms._

Harry could remember suspecting that she had burst into tears, and now he was quite sure of that. Though she often won her house points in class, Hermione Granger wasn’t used to being the center of attention in such grand surroundings.

 

Perhaps that was why Dumbledore had wanted to do this way, to sort of get little Harry and his friends more used to his fame. And to congratulate them on a job well done, of course.

Never mind the fact that, according to Harry’s Elvish upbringing, the Philosophers Stone should never have been brought to Hogwarts in the first place. A school for children was a place where children should be protected. Should be safe to learn and prepare for the world they would one day enter. Not a place that came under attack by some of the dangers of that world simply because the Headmaster thought it was a good idea to hide a magical treasure there.

_“Third–to Mr. Harry Potter,” said Dumbledore, and the room went deathly quiet. “For pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.”_

_The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four-hundred and seventy-two points—exactly the same as Slytherin._

Nerve and courage. Harry snorted. Though he had overcome the terror he’d initially felt at facing Voldemort, ‘outstanding’ courage was pushing it a bit.

Though comparing his almost-unknown execution of Quirrell to the duty he’d recently taken on: the outright execution of the Easterling leader, Harry did feel the praise was more worthy to the child that had done what he thought needed to be done. Rather than to the adult that was planning to do what he knew had to be done, as doing so would all but guarantee victory for Gondor in a war that would soon after end.

_Dumbledore raised his hand and the room gradually fell silent. “There are all kinds of courage,” he continued, smiling. “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom.”_

That had been a kind act. And a good point for the school’s headmaster to make. That it was important to not give into peer pressure if it was pushing you to do the wrong thing.

And Neville had never won as much as a point for Gryffindor before. Not that year. But he did have a bit more confidence when he returned to Hogwarts the next year. Harry remembered that that was when the boy started to bloom in Herbology.

Though, at the time, Harry had just been happy at not only winning the House Cup—plus seeing the horrified and stunned look on Malfoy’s face—but also at having the school’s attention drawn off him again.

 

Harry didn’t disagree with the points that had been award, of course. Just the dramatic effect the Headmaster had aimed for in postponing the process of doing so. At the very least, he could have award Ron, Hermione and Neville while Harry was in the hospital room, if he wanted to make a spectacle out of him.

Though his younger self probably wouldn’t have appreciated that. By awarding Neville’s ten points—the points that had claimed the Cup for Gryffindor—after Harry’s own sixty points, his peers had been too caught up in their victory to pay attention to what the points were actually awarded for. For the very reason Harry’s arrival had silenced and then excited everyone so much a short while before.

_“Which means,” Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, for even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were celebrating the downfall of Slytherin, “a change of decoration is in order.” He clapped his hands._

In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and towering Gryffindor lion took its place.

 

Harry smirked a little as he watched Snape shake McGonagall’s hand, with a horribly forced smile fixed on his face. He had to chuckle as the middle-aged wizard caught his younger self’s eye, his sour gaze making it clear that he blamed the boy for his house’s downfall, and anything else he could pin on him.

But it hadn’t bothered young Harry at all.

It was just one way that life at Hogwarts would undoubtedly be back to normal now, or as normal as it ever was at Hogwarts.

Harry could remember thinking that had been the best evening of Harry’s life, better than winning at Quidditch or Christmas or knocking out mountain trolls. A night he would never, ever forget.

Now many nights had come along to top it. Which was one of the reasons he’d gone to so much trouble of saving his pre-Arda memories into Ginny’s _Altium Globe_. Even after he’d managed to make his own Pensieve, he’d kept the _Altium_ separate, except when he wanted to submerge himself in his own memories, as he was now.

That was why his success at creating a Pensieve had thrilled his foster-kin so much. It gave them a way of looking back on their long lives was a luxury the likes of which they’d never known. Though Galadriel’s mirror had a similar ability, it wasn’t easily controlled, and it was much more thrilling to actually step into the memory, instead of watching it in the Mirror’s two-dimensional format.

It was how many of the Galadhrim who’d been born on Middle Earth had actually been able to see Valinor without making the one-way the journey themselves. Because there were among the ancient elves those who’d seen the heavenly lands, long ago.

 

And it was also how his loved ones had come to know some of the world Harry had come from: through the memories he had of it. Few though they were, as the fifteen years of life he’d experienced on early was hardly comparable to the decades he’d now lived on Arda. And of those fifteen years, he’d only known the Wizarding world for five of them, anyway.

_“An interesting choice, ion nîn.”_

Harry turned only slightly, unsurprised to see the Lord of the Galadhrim standing there.

 

His family never let him wander through his pre-Arda memories for too long, and he’d probably been here for a while as he’d just finished making his way through some of the more memorable moments of his first year at Hogwarts. And as his sister and her family were hundreds of miles away from the Golden Wood and the Penseive he was currently using, it would be either be his wife, his mother or his father that would come after him. And given the possibility that he might be reviewing less pleasant, less innocent memories than any of the ones that he’d had from his childhood, his father was the best choice, no matter how worldly his mother was.

 

“Adar,” he nodded to the silver-haired elf.

_“Any particular reason you chose this memory to review?”_

Harry shrugged, shaking his head slightly. _“Just wanted a change of perspective, I guess.”_

_“You mean you wanted to remember what it was like, to be that innocent?”_ Celebornmurmured, tilting his head towards the Gryffindor table, where Harry and his friends were digging into the Leaving Feast.

_“I suppose.”_ Harry sighed, though he had to smile as he watched the carefree antics of some of the children around the hall.

After several long moments of silent observation, he shook his head and then turned his eyes skyward, rising quickly through the starry ceiling and appearing outside of the Penseive in the small, guarded shelter the Galadhrim had prepared centuries ago for its keeping. A moment later his father appeared next to him and Harry unsheathed his wand, waving it between the Penseive and the _Altium Globe_ to send his childhood memories back into storage.

As the glistening bubbles of innocent times obeyed his command, he looked at his father again. _“But there is no going back, is there?”_

_“To the untainted innocence of our youth?”_ Celeborn shook his head solemnly. _“No, I’m afraid the worlds’ do not work that way. We are only meant to be that innocent for all too short, and all too finite, a time.”_ The elf slipped an arm around his son’s shoulders to gently pull him away from the door after he’d slipped the once-again full Globe in his pocket. _“But growing up does come with some rewards, ion nîn.”_ As they came outside he nodded his head down towards the nearby gardens. One of the gardens Ránewen liked to frequent in her spare time. _“One of whom is waiting for you to emerge.”_

Harry shook his head, smiling slightly in response to the gentle teasing in his father’s tone. He nodded as he slipped out of the ancient elf’s hold, stepping down to the ladder to begin his descent. He stopped at the top, though, to glance up at his father once more. _“Hannon le, Ada.”_

_“Go to your wife, ion nîn.”_ The Lord of the Golden Wood ordered in response, still smiling. And with a similar smile on his face, Harry obeyed.

 

No matter how dark his thoughts might turn in the very near future, it was hard to remained focused on it while he was surrounded by his loved ones his home.

 

~ * **_Easterling Encampment – Cermië 6, 549_** * ~

 

“ ** _You are certain of this?_** ” Harry had asked, one eyebrow rising as he considered the implications of the information Korin, father of Korak, had brought to him.

 

The mortal had replied in the affirmative, and indeed it appeared he was right. Arat si-Sha, the majority leader of the East had arrived in Berdan sa-Sern’s camp just before sundown the day before, and had promptly sat down to supper with his second-cousin. Making Harry’s arrival in Gondor’s Eastern allies encampment only a few days before very lucky. It’d allowed him to get to the encampment he was at now within a timeframe that wouldn’t make the mortals suspicious. Which was how he came to be watching Gondor’s enemies.

 

Si-Sha was several inches taller than sa-Sern. Their coloring was really the only thing they had in common, and si-Sha had inherited superior looks. Thanks to his considerably more active lifestyle he was in excellent shape while his older cousin was starting to look a little pudgy around the middle. His dark hair was still a shiny, blackest black, while sa-Sern’s was starting to gray. Si-Sha’s smiles, though a bit guarded, came easily, naturally, while sa-Sern’s were clearly forced.

 

As Harry watched—while under the protection of numerous notice-me-nots, his invisibility cloak and many other cloaking charms—the two cousins discussed terms of a proper alliance against Gondor.

 

As dire as such an alliance could be if it came to pass, the meeting gave him the opportunity Gondor needed to strike a definitive, crippling blow against their Easterling enemies.

 

Honestly, Korak had downplayed how broken apart the tribes were. Or, more likely, he’d misunderstood it himself. Si-Sha and sa-Sern _had_ been fighting for control of the tribes. But they would not fight each other.

 

It was one thing to slay a rival of no—or at least very, very distant—relation in combat. Quite another to harm ones own kin. Something the vast majority of the Easterling people would not be able to accept. And something that si-Sha, at least, would clearly not be willing to do.

 

Si-Sha was a military leader, who’d won all of his power in battle. His cousin, however, preferred the dubious safety of politics and the carefully concealed conscription of skilled assassins. Of the tribe leaders the two cousins had originally opposed, si-Sha had defeated seven of them in four different battles. Those sa-Sern needed out of his way, which had included the leader Gondor’s new allies had favor, had met their ends by poison.

 

From all of Korin’s gathered intelligence si-Sha was certainly the better man. But he was also the superior leader, and the one Gondor did not want to gain control of the Tribes.

 

Which was apparently very close to happening. If sa-Sern had his way, his cousin would lead the Tribes in the war against Gondor, while sa-Sern kept the peace in the political arena at home. And undoubtedly, si-Sha would meet his end as soon as he’d outlived his usefulness. But for now he was useful, so si-Sha and sa-Sern were shaking hands. Eating supper together. And would be sleeping in the same encampment, under heavy guard.

 

If Harry could choose, he would much rather kill sa-Sern, as all intelligence indicated he was _not_ a good man. While his cousin was.

 

But for Gondor to gain anything from the turmoil between these cousins, si-Sha had to die. And Harry had to kill him.

 

It was fortunate that sa-Sern’s assassins had always favored poison. That made his job considerably easier.

 

Korin had already brought a fairly large supply of a poisonous plant that sa-Sern’s assassins heavily favored. The same plant that had been used to take the lives of all sa-Sern’s rivals.

 

But the poison itself wasn’t the key part of framing sa-Sern for this. Even killing si-Sha here in sa-Sern’s encampment, when he—as his cousin’s welcome guest—should be completely safe, wasn’t as important as the fact that only sa-Sern knew how to make this poison undetectable to taste.

 

All Easterling’s knew this particular poison’s taste. The berries grew all over the Eastern lands, and all the Easterling children were given a very slight taste of the bitter berries so that they would recognize the taste should it ever pollute their water, or find its way into their food. The sharp, bitter flavor was one they all knew, and nearly impossible to miss or mistake. And one that could therefore be treated before it turned fatal. Accidental ingestions of the poison were still prevalent enough, however, that everyone recognized its effects.

 

The only way a victim could be saved was by recognizing the taste right away and imbibing the antidote for it within moments, maybe minutes, of recognizing their would-be death sentence. Once the more violent symptoms started, it was too late. As soon as one started suffering from tremors and difficulty breathing, which eventually progressed to clammy sweats, red eyes, delirium, vomiting blood and extremely violent convulsions, there wasn’t anything anyone could do for them.

 

An Elven or Wizarding healer could counter it. The Elves had healing magic, potions and techniques that could help a victim ride it out, and so did the Wizards of Earth. But the mortal men, the Easterlings especially as they’d never had diplomatic contact with the Elves, could not save themselves after that terrible point when the poison had begun to take effect.

 

And sa-Sern—or someone loyal to him—had found a way to make the bitter taste undetectable. A way that didn’t involve disguising it with spices and rich flavors that generations of Eastern leaders had learned to avoid for that very reason. No, sa-Sern’s people could apparently put the newly concocted version of the poison into plain water, and it would not be noticeable by taste.

 

How was this accomplished?

 

Their new allies did not know. They only knew those facts, which apparently were widely known about all sa-Sern’s conquests by assassination.

 

All Harry had to do was make sure si-Sha ingested it. Which would be difficult for anyone else. Sa-Sha had come prepared with food-tasters, and had yet to eat or drink anything in the encampment without one of the tasters trying it first.

 

But Harry was a wizard, so how sa-Sern managed to disguise the poison, and all of si-Sha’s food-tasters didn’t taste it, didn’t matter. He could simply cast a spell to render the poison flavorless after slipping it into si-Sha’s water.

 

So that’s what he’d done.

 

Simply slipped invisibly into si-Sha’s well-guarded tent and added the poison to the mortal’s canteen. The only water canteen the Easterling-leader ever drank from, which never left his sight, save when he slept in a guarded tent. A spell rendered the liquid tasteless. Another spell—at the demands of his conscious—heightened the poison’s effect, so that si-Sha would not need to suffer anymore than necessary, as Harry’s spell would make his mind shut down before his body started to suffer through the much more painful final stages of the poison’s lethal attack.

 

And the next day he watched, invisible once again as the man mounted his horse, intent on riding out to check his cousin’s troops and begin preparations for the merging of their armies, with the canteen full of deadly drink at his side.

 

Watched as the rather handsome young man smiled and laughed, joking with some of the soldiers as he led them through some sword forms in the early morning that was rapidly growing hotter and hotter as the summer sun climbed higher and higher into the sky.

 

Watched as si-Sha called for a short break and moved over to his horse, still joking with some of the soldiers as he took several deep sips from his canteen.

 

The expected wave of guilt washed over him, momentarily freezing his heart and catching his breath as he watched Arat si-Sha swallow. The secretly lethal liquid flowed down his throat, quenching momentary thirst while starting a much more dangerous attack on his body then the momentary discomfort caused by the sun and exercise.

 

A gentle, familiar nudge against his mental shields made a deep frown slip over his formerly neutral, frozen face. He shook his head and pushed her back firmly.

 

He knew full well that he couldn’t do anything to keep Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien out of his mind. At least not without calling on his own powers to actually fight, and possibly hurt her. Which he would never do.

 

But he also knew she would never ignore his explicit wishes. And he had never been more firm in ignoring her.

 

He focused on building opaque walls up behind his eyes. In his mind.

 

So that she would not see what he was watching.

 

She wouldn’t see si-Sha suddenly stop, his skin paling as his breath caught and held. As he gasped frantically for air that his burning, swelling throat would not allow passage.

 

She wouldn’t see when he started shaking. As terrible tremors shook every muscle of si-Sha’s body and what breath he was able to intake was expelled on choked, tortured screams.

 

She wouldn’t see when si-Sha’s body finally stopped convulsing.

 

As the mortal man’s last breath escaped him.

 

Harry closed his eyes and apparated away. Centuries of practice had made him very apt at it. Unlike most of the wizards of his world, when he disappeared he didn’t make a sound. He was just gone.

 

And as he’d been invisible the entire time he’d been in and over the Easterling encampment, his young enemies never knew he was there.

 

Though this day, these moments, might well haunt his nights far longer then most other things that’d happened during this war ever would.

 

~ * **_First Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Cermië 31, 549_** * ~

 

“Good morrow, my friend.”

 

Harry stopped as the King of Gondor’s greeting caught his ears, turning quickly to acknowledge the mortal sovereign. “Good day, yo—”

 

“Ah!” Turambar held up a hand, and then shook his head at his Captain even as he gestured for him to continue walking with him. “We are not in court or in council, friend. Cease the formalities, please.”

 

“If that is your wish, sir,” Harry replied, biting back a smirk as he knew the reply would annoy the young King, but wasn’t disobedient or disrespectful, so the man really couldn’t say anything.

 

Though that didn’t stop the king from shooting a mild glare at him.

 

Shaking his head in silent reply, he tried to redirect the conversation. “I believe you received a message from King Vindovia earlier today?”

 

It was early yet, but the messenger had undoubtedly ridden for several days to get here and had arrived just after dawn.

 

Turambar nodded, “Yes. He sends his thanks; apparently the new crop should provide a bountiful yield in the autumn.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that.”

 

Again, the king nodded. He remained quiet for a few moments, walking smoothly down the path—in a way it was always nice walking with the king: though more often then not soldiers would make way for any officer, they _always_ made way for the king—and a short time later he turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “My royal cousin also spoke of you.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Did he?”

 

“Yes, very highly,” Turambar nodded again. “He was quite impressed by your diplomacy. Even more so after he heard of your successful trip in the East.”

 

Many hadn’t expected him to come back from that mission. And if he hadn’t had magic at his disposal, he probably wouldn’t have. Not with successful completion of the task. Since just infiltrating the camp undetected would have been difficult, getting near the understandably paranoid leader even more so, and getting out after assassinating said leader should have been impossible. Akin to suicide. Which made his return, with the job complete, all the more surprising. And therefore made the suspicious rumors somewhat understandable. Especially since many of the younger officers—who hadn’t been here long enough to grow tired of the war or make a name for themselves as they’d planned to, making them—dislike him quite a bit.

 

“I am, of course, appreciative of his compliments,” Harry murmured, bowing his head slightly as he did so. “But I was only doing my job.”

 

“So you have said,” Turambar nodded again, wearing a small smile that almost managed to banish some of the lines that had worked their way onto his face throughout the course of the war.

 

Harry had to suppress a slightly surprised wince as he thought of those lines. Not too long ago, he’d added a few slight wrinkles to the illusion of his own visage and of his wife’s cousins, to make it appear as though they were all aging, however slowly.

 

But Turambar actually was aging. Every one of Harry’s mortal friends was. And even if their lives were not ended prematurely in war or by disease or some other misfortune, still none of them would be here in only a century. Even Turambar and all the others with the blood of the Dúnedain flowing through their veins and granting them considerable longevity only had so many decades left.

 

“Hadrian?” Turambar’s concerned voice forced the wizard out of his musings, and Harry had to suppress a wince yet again as he looked up and saw the concern on his mortal friend’s face had only made those worrisome wrinkles more obvious.

 

“I-I apologize, yo—my friend. My mind wandered,” He offered halfheartedly.

 

The King nodded slowly, still looking concerned... and older than Harry liked. “It happens to the best of us,” he commented, then continued after a slight pause. “I wonder if you might care to join me for supper tonight? The supply train arrived with an excellent bottle of that Elven wine you ran out of not too long ago.”

 

“And we might as well discuss the Easterners’ recent movements some more,” Harry nodded firmly, forcing his shoulders to relax as he replied. “Thank you, my friend. I’d be delighted.” Then he nodded in the direction he’d been headed before the king hailed him. “I only have a few more jobs—”

 

“After you’ve completed your duties, of course,” the King nodded slowly. “I will be inviting several of the other Captains, as well. An informal council, if you will.” One eyebrow went up as he asked, “Do you think I should invite young Torres? He is here for the night.”

 

Harry nodded, the moody captain checked in with the main encampment frequently throughout the week. But obviously Turambar was asking because of the animosity the young Gondorian tended to display towards ‘Captain Hadrian.’

 

The nobleman seemed to feel threatened by Harry. Whether it was simply because the King seemed inclined to trust ‘Hadrian’ more frequently than most other captains, Hadrian’s supposedly common birth or just because Torres was supposedly the closest in age to Hadrian and had more trouble being accepted than Hadrian had had in a very long time, Harry didn’t know. And while the young man’s competitive animosity and jealousy could frequently be irritating, they were not feelings the Elven-raised wizard returned.

 

“I have no objection to Captain Torres’ presence, your highness.” He shrugged, “He may think of something others would not, and he could learn something.”

 

“If he’s willing to,” Turambar agreed, grinning slightly as he shook his head. “I don’t think you know how rare an individual you are, my friend.”

 

Harry frowned, “Your highness?”

 

Sharp silver eyes stared at him for a long moment, before the king nodded again. “When I promoted you to Captain, I honestly did not expect you to fit in anywhere near as well as you did. You were a commoner, raised rapidly through the ranks under unusual circumstances.” He shook his head, “I thought I’d have to look out for you, but you never seemed to have trouble with command, with any of your duties. And though some troops grumbled at first, after meeting you all were willing to follow your orders without question. This easy acceptance made many of the other young officers, most of whom are noble-born, considerably jealous. They felt threatened by you, and tended to act accordingly. Yet you’ve never responded to their harassment.”

 

“I came to help fight a war, your highness. Not start brawls for little or no reason.” Harry shrugged, a bit uncomfortably. “And most of the officers have gotten considerably better over the years.”

 

“Of course,” Turambar nodded again. “After any experience in the field with you, their complaints tend to disappear. Frankly, it’s made me quite tempted to just send Torres and some of the others out on some random mission with you. But I’ve yet to see a good opportunity.”

 

Harry blinked, and then laughed. “I’m not sure throwing a bunch of your officers together for a random assignment would have quite the effect you’d hope for, my friend.”

 

“No, perhaps not,” Turambar agreed with a shrug. Then he shook his head, “But I’m keeping you from your duties. Shall I see you shortly after sundown?”

 

“Of course, your highness.”

 

“Oh, and happy birthday, my friend.”

 

Harry bowed his head in response; honestly that’s what he’d been expecting from the very start of the conversation. “Thank you, my friend,” he replied, bowing slightly, once again just the right depth for a prince bowing to a foreign king, as Celeborn always insisted. Then he watched as said king nodded and walked away.

 

He stopped briefly in his tent, to remove a tiny vial from the smallest trunk in his possession and take a tiny sip of the draught within, before re-corking and replacing the half-empty vial and leaving to complete his fore mentioned duties.

 

Later tonight they would discuss the recent skirmishes with the Easterlings, most of which had been infrequent at best with few troops coming this way. It was starting to look like they may have to advance further eastward to end this war, but until their reinforcements arrived from Rhovanion that probably wasn’t the best of ideas. But the Rhovanions had fared well over the last few months, so they’d undoubtedly be arriving in perhaps half-a-dozen weeks, maybe less.

 

~ * **_First Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Yavannië 12, 549_** * ~

 

Harry really wasn’t quite sure of what to make of Vindarvia, son of Vindovia and Prince of Rhovanion.

 

The man was only a little older than Captain Torres, but wasn’t drawn to the younger officers any more than he was to the older ones. He seemed to tolerate company when it was forced upon him, but never sought it out.

 

In fact, the only person he seemed to be comfortable conversing with for any length of time was Captain Hadrian. Harry himself! Which he really didn’t understand at all.

 

Though Prince Vindarvia almost always chose to sit himself alongside Captain Hadrian he still rarely initiated conversation. Harry had to start almost every conversation they had. The only difference with this and the way everyone else reacted to the Prince was simply that after other officers dragged conversation out of the youth, he wouldn’t sit near them again. Except for Captain Hadrian, who he always sat near if he had the chance.

 

The only time Vindarvia spoke up at all, really, was during strategy sessions and occasionally in other parts of war council. Otherwise he kept quiet, pretty much only speaking when spoken to.

 

Harry had to review a bit of Rhovanion history in his head to figure out why Vindovia’s heir was so young, and had been saddened to remember that Vindarvia was the youngest of six brothers, but the only son of Vindovia still living. As the youngest of six sons, the man should never have expected to become heir to his father’s throne. The fact that he was the future King of Rhovanion despite that did, perhaps, go a little ways towards explaining his closed-nature.

 

But then again, Vindovia himself hadn’t been that chatty either. He’d spoken for his people during their negotiations, of course. But he’d let everyone else do a lot of talking, too.

 

And Vindarvia didn’t seem to have any trouble commanding his troops. Though he conveyed many commands through hand signals and what verbal commands he gave were always brief, he was always immediately obeyed. And his men were obviously completely loyal to him.

 

Which was good. Especially since the long-held grudges between the Gondorians and the Rhovanions might, under weaker leaders, have forced their alliance apart. But it wasn’t something Vindarvia or Turambar, nor any of Gondor’s captains, would ever allow. So it wasn’t an issue.

 

Especially considering the Rhovanions’ honor-code.

 

Gondor had helped them find their feet again, so they could be trusted to keep up their end of the bargain. Which, at present, was really just frequently training with Gondor’s troops as autumn faded into winter.

 

Their assassination of the Eastern military leader had really thrown the East into chaos once more. Though their allies claimed it wouldn’t be long before sa-Sern managed to gain control of the mutinous peoples. Or before one of the more militarily-proficient leaders that had been following si-Sha managed to overcome his fallen leader’s cousins.

 

Whatever the case, the final battle would almost certainly take place in the early spring, six months away at least. They could push it sooner, but moving into the East in the late autumn wasn’t the wisest of ideas. The cold rains they’d been training in would soon give way to heavy snow. And the Gondorians didn’t have magic or technology to help them deal with that.

 

So, for now, all they could do was finalize their alliance, strategies, and train.

 

While Harry wondered why King Turambar seemed to find Prince Vindarvia’s interest in Gondor’s favorite captain so amusing.

 

Which hadn’t been helped, at all, when Turambar decided to publicly reward him for his mission in the East. With a title that he’d been dodging for ages, but couldn’t really avoid anymore.

 

~ * **_First Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Hísimë 17, 549_** * ~

 

Superior numbers weren’t everything in battles and skirmishes, or even in wars, but they certainly helped. And the East seemed to be teeming with zealous soldiers. So the arrival of reinforcements in the form of their Rhovanion allies soon proved to be a very fortunate happenstance.

 

Their latest skirmishes with the Easterling forces also seemed to indicate that the death of si-Sha had been quite a blow to the East, as the chieftains that’d risen to power in the wake of his fall didn’t seem to value real, logical strategies and the like. Though they knew little else about the multiple chieftains that now held dubious amounts of control over the Eastern Tribes, they did know that sa-Sern wasn’t among them, as the man hadn’t long survived the apparent dishonorable assassination of his cousin.

 

Not that that’d really helped their enemies at all. As the leaders they ended up with couldn’t really even be called ‘second-best.’ Or even third or fourth. Because it certainly looked like long-term strategy wasn’t something they put too much thought into. No, they just kept throwing soldiers westward. Evidently assuming it was a good way to wear Gondor down.

 

But the Easterling forces weren’t large enough for these encounters with them to be called battles. More like they were sent into suicide skirmishes, as the small forces never stood a chance against the full might of Gondor’s army.

 

And as snow had already started falling earlier in the month, it wouldn’t be long before the weather would be as great a threat to these suicide squads as the considerably larger bodies of troops they were attacking were.

 

In the long run this could, in fact, wear Gondor down. _If_ the Easterlings could afford to keep sending parties westward to certain death, while holding the bulk of their forces in reserve, it could very well be problematic.

 

Harry had mentioned as much to the war council already, to the agreement of most of the senior officers and Turambar himself. And they’d begun planning accordingly.

 

But Korin, the official ambassador of their Eastern allies and father of the survivor of their initial embassy, swore that this didn’t seem to be a part of the enemies’ plans. Not that it seemed like the leaders that were still squabbling for control of the East had any uniform plans towards Gondor at all.

 

Harry had already surreptitiously used a bit of Legilimency to confirm that Korin was speaking truthfully, but even before he’d done it he’d honestly believed the man was in earnest.

 

Their Eastern allies truly believed no Eastern army was gathering. So either they’d downplayed just how negatively the other tribes viewed them and their supposed network of spies was essentially worthless, or whoever the people were who were currently in command in the East were just _idiots_.

 

Which was fine with Harry; assuming said idiots could be manipulated to Gondor’s advantage and hopefully end the war.

 

“ ** _You are certain your people are not suspected?_** ” Harry asked quietly, his eyes unmoving from the Eastern ambassador’s dark, slightly wrinkled face.

 

The man nodded immediately, sighing as Gondor’s officers continued to throw ideas back and forth around them. The war council hadn’t officially begun. It wouldn’t, until after they’d finished their supper. “ ** _Yes, Lord Hadrian. As I have said several times already. While the other tribes have no love for mine, more than anything else they think of us as weak. The fools certainly don’t think we’d even consider betraying them. They think too little of us to believe us capable of it._** ”

 

Harry nodded, also sighing in response to the man’s statement. “ ** _I apologize for my disbelief, my friend. But no matter how little training in proper strategy the remaining tribal leaders have, they have to realize that simply sending soldiers westward in small groups such as they’ve been doing for several weeks now is foolish._** ”

 

He’d given up on trying to convince the man that ‘Hadrian’ was not, in fact, a lord. Though, fortunately the man didn’t address him as such in the Common Tongue. No, he kept to the newest title Turambar had all but forced upon him for that.

 

“ ** _It’s more than foolish,_** ” Korin agreed, taking a long sip of his beer before continuing. “ ** _But the leaders that remain aren’t, truly, fit to lead. When we claimed the real leaders of the East were si-Sha and sa-Sern, we truly meant it. What leaders there were to challenge them before had already been dealt with. Had si-Sha’s death not seemed so very dishonorable—_** ”

 

“ ** _Sa-Sern would undoubtedly be in command of the East now,_** ” Harry cut the man off with a nod. It was something they’d already discussed many times before over the last few weeks.

 

A slight cough from his opposite side drew Harry’s eyes to Prince Vindarvia, who he’d already known had been watching them for some time already.

 

“Your Highness?”

 

“I believe it might be better for you both to converse in the Common Tongue,” Vindovia’s heir suggested mildly. “It gives less cause for concern among those of us who are not so fluent in the Eastern dialects.”

 

Harry did not glance around as Vindarvia’s comment. He didn’t need to. He’d felt the eyes of many of the other officers on them for some time already. Instead, he nodded politely. “My apologies for any discomfort my callousness may’ve caused you.”

 

“Mine as well,” Korin interjected, relaxing slightly when Vindarvia nodded in response.

 

“Wise advice,” Turambar commented lightly from Korin’s other side. “I believe I’ve said something similar before now.”

 

Harry offered a small smile in response. “You did, Your Majesty. That would be why we stopped speaking in Master Korin’s language during council meetings. I’m afraid I did not think it mattered if we spoke in his tongue in less formal circumstances.”

 

Turambar shrugged, “Some of the officers may yet take offense. Not that it really matters if they do, with the soldiers’ opinions so high in your favor.”

 

Harry nodded again. After his return from the successful assassination of the Eastern leader he’d been very busy with recent skirmishes. And his recent ascension to a Knight of Gondor certainly hadn’t helped to discourage the gossips or lessen the younger nobles’ jealousy. He’d tried to protest, but technically a knight was not officially part of the aristocracy, and Turambar had been very public about it, so he hadn’t really been able to refuse. Any more than the Míriel brother’s could refuse their promotion to Captains, not after Turambar had promised not to separate them from their ‘brother.’

 

So now, while still the official leader of his company, he was Sir Hadrian. Which really just meant that he’d gained a title he’d never lose, and the authority that came with it. He hadn’t, yet, decided if this was a good thing or not.

 

On one hand, Turambar was probably trying to get him used to the idea of joining the aristocracy. On the other, Torres and the other young nobles that’d been so resentful of his influence over the king as a captain were still jealous, but much more careful about how they showed it.

 

“My queen tells me,” Turambar continued lightly, the small smile on his face not quite enough to make Harry truly wary, but it did give him the feeling he wasn’t going to like what was coming. “That tales of your deeds have made their way homeward, to the people. Undoubtedly by word of mouth and the supply trains.”

 

Harry nodded, given his continuing rise in the soldier’s esteem, it wasn’t surprising that they might write home about him in some for or another. “And how much of what made it there is actually true?”

 

Turambar chuckled, “As gossip goes, many of the tales seem to be fairly accurate. Though, as one might expect, some are a bit exaggerated. I gave my queen leave to clarify much of it with the court. You needn’t worry. Lindethiél is quite adept at controlling gossip and the like.” He took a sip of his beer before finishing with, “She is looking forward to meeting you.”

 

Ah, there it was. Yet another hint at Turambar’s wish to make Hadrian a permanent part of Gondor’s royal court.

 

Harry nodded, “I’ve already promised to come to court, Your Majesty. Raina and I both will be there. After the war.”

 

“So you have.” Gondor’s king nodded again, before waving the serving boys over to start clearing the dishes as everyone appeared to have finished. “And I plan on holding you to it.”

 

Harry nodded again, “I’m sure you will.”

 

He wasn’t sure why Turambar kept bringing the point up. He knew it wasn’t that Turambar lacked any trust in Hadrian’s word.

 

The best thing he could figure was that it was tied to the ‘after the war’ part. As if discussion of what would transpire after the war’s end would bring said end about sooner. Illogical, but emotionally understandable.

 

“The soldiers have been gossiping quite a bit,” Vindarvia commented, his gravelly voice quiet but still somehow carrying over the louder officers’ conversation to be easily heard by those his words were meant for.

 

Harry often forced a similar effect with his own voice using very slight amounts of magic. He didn’t know how the Prince of Rhovanion did it.

 

“Oh?” Turambar inquired, a small smile stretching his lips and making Harry a little wary again while one royal eyebrow rose.

 

“Sir Hadrian seems to be a common interest among all the soldiers.” Vindarvia continued, taking another sip of his beer before going on.

 

Harry had to force himself not to spend too much time wondering how the man managed to drink as much as he did. For he was rather sure that man’s mug was just refilled for the seventh time, and he still seemed completely somber. As part-Elf and a wizard Harry could easily drink him under the table, but Vindarvia frequently drank twice as much beer as any of the other mortal men, and never appeared even slightly intoxicated. But what Vindarvia was saying was more important than how much he was imbibing, so Harry forced himself to ignore the idle curiosity.

 

“I, myself, have to wonder at just how well schooled you are, Sir Hadrian”

 

“As have I,” Korin commented quietly. “Your mastery of all our tongues—and, I believe the Elven tongues and the language of the Rohirrim, as well?—is impressive.”

 

“You’re a better tactician and politician then any of the men twice your age,” Vindarvia continued with a nod, “As well as an able healer, assassin and commander. And I’m sure you have many other useful skills we’ve yet to see.”

 

“More then enough to stir our curiosities,” Turambar agreed with another nod, though his face was now much more serious. “Even without your frequent successes on the battlefield.”

 

Harry looked down for a moment, honestly surprised by just how much the mortals were confronting him with so openly.

 

Though Turambar had made many a remark in private before, he’d never said as much among others. Undoubtedly well aware of the fact that such conversation would draw the attention of most anyone who happened to be nearby. As it was now, with most of the men in the room lending at least half an ear to their conversation, while keeping up much quieter side-chatter to avoid the appearance of eavesdropping.

 

Harry shook his head, before looking up to meet Turambar’s eyes again. “I don’t believe I’ve ever given Gondor any reason to be suspicious of me, Your Majesty.”

 

Turambar blinked, but then immediately nodded, his smile now a bit contrite. “No, certainly not. But you’ve given us all plenty to be interested in, my friend.”

 

“Indeed,” Captain Aldous offered from the king’s opposite side, where the supposedly eldest officer had been listening quietly for some time after the king’s attention had turned to them. “There are some, in fact, who’ve begun to speculate on your heritage.”

 

Harry blinked, almost not wanting to ask, but knowing it really had to be said. “My heritage?”

 

“Yes. In addition to being so very well-educated and able, Sir Hadrian, you’ve always had the presence of a leader. You’ve never had any trouble with command, at all.”

 

Harry shrugged with false nonchalance, “I’m a scholar at heart. And I was lucky enough to have good teachers.”

 

“Your generous elf-friends among them?”

 

Harry nodded towards the king without skipping a beat as he replied. “Yes.”

 

“Yes, well. Amongst the less-fortunate, common-born men, it’s led to a common belief that you are, at least, a lord by birth. Some even think you must be a royal, as you’re obviously much better off than most of the noble-born officers amongst us.”

 

Harry couldn’t help it. He blinked repeatedly, more than a little disturbed at just how accurate all this gossip seemed to be. After a moment he raised an eyebrow, “And where, exactly am I supposed to hail from if I’m a prince?” He nodded to Turambar and then Vindarvia, but his eyes remained on Captain Aldous. “I have not the coloring of the Rohirrim, King Turambar knows all those who can claim kinship to him, as, I’m sure, Prince Vindarvia does as well. And the lone Prince of Arnor has no sons as of yet.”

 

Aldous smiled slightly as he shook his head. “Some hitherto unknown nation, I suppose.”

 

“Or perhaps he’s an elf in disguise?” Captain Lenross suggested from Aldous’s other side.

 

The younger captain’s tone was completely one of jest, but Harry was surprised by just how hard it was to hold off a flinch under Turambar and Vindarvia’s speculative gazes. He forced an eyebrow to rise instead. “An elf?” he shook his head, bringing one hand up to pull his hair back a bit so that one of his ears was showing, pointing to it pointless edge. “I think the ears would be rather hard to hide.”

 

“Ah, but the elves are said to have many strange magicks at their disposal,” Lenross replied, smirking in evident amusement. “Perhaps even the sort that could help them walk among us unnoticed.”

 

Harry blinked several times at that, deliberately _not_ looking towards the Míriel brothers, who were still conversing with some of the captains who were just a bit too far away to listen in—not that that stopped either elf from doing so—as he did so, before shaking his head. “I suppose you’ll have some similar sort of response for every critique I come up with?”

 

“Oh come now, Hadrian,” Turambar shook his head, smiling slightly. “You can’t give in that easily! There’s no sport there.”

 

This time Harry let his honest response come out, chuckling softly. “Sport, hmm?” He shook his head. “Well, I guess I should point out that both of my brothers came here with me.” He nodded towards the Míriels. “Both of my _elder_ brothers,” He pointed out, raising an eyebrow as he continued. “If we were nobles, would we not have been raised to follow the eldest? I’d always thought that the popular custom.”

 

Turambar nodded slightly, “It is the custom nowadays, certainly, to favor your firstborn. But if one of the younger children shows more aptitude for, well, _anything_ , I would like to think most parents would be pleased to encourage them to pursue their interests.”

 

“And even if the younger children do not have a greater aptitude for anything, that does not mean they are ignored,” Vindarvia shook his head. “Even if some parents are callous enough to not truly care for their offspring, it’d still be considered unwise to place all responsibility on the firstborn and never prepare the younger children for any of the same.” After another long sip of his beer the prince continued. “As my family’s misfortunes lend credence to. The future is never truly certain.”

 

Harry nodded in agreement. “I suppose that is true.” He was quiet for a long moment, out of respect for the emotional reference the prince had made, before he continued. He forced his tone to be almost jesting as he offered with a smile, “Alright then. Why did my brothers and I come to Minas Tirith with little more than the clothes on our backs?”

 

The royals hadn’t really been able to stir up an adequate response to that, but from the looks they continued to send his way—just like everyone else, really—they were still all very curious. But they weren’t pushing. For now it was simply a topic of conversation, and he ran with it as such.

 

It wasn’t like he could complain about being in the public’s good favor, despite the gossip and speculation. Most people complained when the target of ill will, after all, so doing so for the opposite might seem a bit suspicious.

 

Of course, the speculation offended the nobles who didn’t like him, but Turambar didn’t much care for them anyway. The king frequently referred to them as upstarts and warmongers, and told his knight to keep his attention on their eastern enemies and let the king worry about politics back home and in the camp. And, as a general rule, Sir Hadrian was happy to. After all, it wasn’t his fault that he was the only ‘man’ the Gondorian king had ever knighted.

 

His knighting had been a rather unpleasant surprise for him. He’d honestly thought Turambar had given up on the idea of seriously ennobling him, but apparently he hadn’t. As the very day the Prince of Rhovanion had arrived King Turambar had decided to spring Hadrian’s new title on him. He’d also made both the Míriel twins captains, though he’d managed to quickly quiet their protests by promising that they weren’t being removed from their brother’s command; that was, after all, something his bodyguards-in-disguise had fought fiercely against in the past.

 

Knighting was rare in Gondor these days, but not unheard of, particularly in times of war. These times counted as such and Hadrian had not only more than earned the recognition, he was so highly favored by public opinion that it was almost a necessity that he be knighted.

 

An interesting side effect was that the move, combined with Hadrian’s already considerable rank in the military, placed him well above the young nobles that’d come for commissions in the army, seeking glory and wealth and the like. None of them had liked it, but they’d been forced to bite their tongues now even more than they’d had to before.

 

Harry hadn’t yet decided if that side effect was a good thing or not. Though if it kept Turambar from following through on any of his crazier ideas—namely the one where he sent all of his commanders on a crazy mission to make them bond or some such nonsense—then Harry supposed he could live with it.

 

If only Turambar were a little less smug about it, Harry would be less inclined to resent the mortal for his forced promotion. Though it was hard to resent him, really, when he acted so much like a child that’d managed to pull one over his elders and was left bouncing with pride for days after the fact... but then again, maybe Harry was just getting to be a little too sentimental.

 

~ * **_Lothlórien – Narvinyë_** **_20, 550_** * ~

 

“ _What is this?_ ”

 

Harry glanced up, more than a little surprised at the clearly accusatory note he could hear in his normally calm, sweet-tempered wife’s voice. And only decades of lessons in diplomacy, including his most recent experiences of it, kept him from wincing as he saw the small vial she held between her thumb and forefinger. Held just enough to keep from dropping it, but touching it as little as possible. A small container he’d carefully kept out of his loved ones sights for some time now. Still, he had to look away from the disbelief he could see in Ránewen’s eyes.

 

“ _Elerossë, what is this?_” Ránewen repeated, catching his chin to turn his eyes back towards her own. When he still didn’t reply, she continued. Since they both already knew what it was. “ _Why would you ever brew something like this?_ ”

 

Harry jerked his chin away from her gentle hand, deftly snatching the damning bottle out of her other hand as he did so, before turning away.

 

She already knew what it was. She was one of the Elves that had diligently worked their way though _Hermione’s Tome_ after Harry had managed to reverse the great compiling spell his brilliant friend had miraculously managed to make just before he’d been sent to this world. Giving the Elves—or at least all the Elves permitted to know of his existence—access to all the books in the Hogwarts library. And though that collection of magical texts was highly praised in the Wizarding World, it really only just scratched the surface when it came to the literature of the magical world back on Earth. But it was a fantastic starting point for them to work with, nonetheless.

 

In less than a decade, Elrond had managed to adapt more than two dozen different Wizarding potions recipes to ones that could be made, and used, here on Middle Earth. Some were obviously useless, as the ingredients just didn’t exist here. But many were not all that difficult to adapt if one was willing to exert a little time and effort to figure it out. And Elves in general would probably have an easier time of it than wizards. Because logic wasn’t something foreign to them, any more than hard, physical labor was. Plus, time was practically a non-issue to them. His kinsmen thought nothing of trekking through the wilderness to find various herbs and weeds that’d been previously disregarded as useless. They’d rather do the trekking than have a wizard summon it, in fact; even if it ended up being truly and totally useless.

 

Still, not all the ingredients needed for some potions had been beyond Harry’s reach. He’d had his potions kit already, and not only were the requirements of fourth year fairly extensive, but because of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry had barely used most of the ingredients they’d been required to bring with them. Plus, potions was something he could practice in Muggle areas without attracting the Ministry’s ire, so he’d followed Hermione’s advice and practiced quite a bit at home the last few summers. This meant he’d had larger kits then was strictly necessary to begin with. Add to that everything they’d covered and experimented with in Herbology class, and Harry had had quite a bit to work with here on Arda. And it hadn’t been too difficult to make the many plants take roots here. Not with Galadriel and many other Elves eager to assist him in the task. Most they’d managed naturally, and Galadriel had only brought a little Elven magic to bear on his garden a few times. Others, he’d found Herbology spells in the tome to help along.

 

When he’d first arrived he hadn’t really seen the point, but hadn’t wanted to disappoint his gracious hosts either. That was now more than four-and-a-half centuries past. And the carefully secluded garden Galadriel and Celeborn had set-up for him was rather impressive now. It was carefully, magically contained to protect the local plants, but Galadriel had experimented quite a bit, too, and had created many new, very useful hybrids along the way.

 

So there were many useful potions he could make here.

 

But there were also some his loved ones would certainly disprove of. Like the one Ránewen was demanding answers of right now.

 

“ _I needed it,_ ” he finally answered.

 

“ _Needed it?_ ” Ránewen scoffed, shaking her head. “ _Elerossë it’s—_ ”

 

“ _I know it’s a dark potion. But some of the dark arts have proved useful._ ” Harry shook his head. “ _Half the spells I occasionally use to slaughter Orcs are spells the English Ministry of Magic considers dark._ ”

 

She stared at him for a long moment in disbelief. “ _That’s different,_ ” she shook her head. “ _Elerossë, one of the main ingredients in this—this horrible concoction is venom from a Great Spider._”

 

“ _Distilled in a very high concentration of alcohol and then even more heavily diluted, yes. It’s a powerful paralytic agent._ ” Harry shook his head, “ _And its one medical professionals in the Wizarding world use when needed—_ ”

 

“ _But it’s also heavily advised again, Elerossë! For obvious reasons!_ ” Again Ránewen shook her head, her dark hair whipping back and forth with the abrupt motion. Then she sighed, “ _...Why?_ ”

 

Harry finally met her eyes again as he repeated, “ _I needed it._ ”

 

“ _You needed a very addictive potion that blocks, or at least heavily dims, the perception of all emotions?_”

 

“ _Yes,_ ” Harry sighed.

 

“ _Why?_ ”

 

He closed his eyes, “ _I was having trouble focusing on ending the war._ ”

 

“ _Trouble focusing?_ ” Ránewen frowned at him, but then realization dawned. “ _...You felt guilty. For killing the enemy soldiers?_ ”

 

“ _No. Not the soldiers. Not really._ ” He shook his head again. “ _They could at least fight back. It wasn’t exactly a fair fight, but they would’ve killed me if they’d had the chance._ ”

 

“ _The leader, then? Whom you volunteered to assassinate?_ ”

 

“ _And the boy. The boy most of all, I think. He couldn’t have even been twenty._ ”

 

“ _Twenty isn’t so young in mortal terms, melda nîn._ ” Ránewen sighed, her tone just as melancholy as his own, even as a resolute expression took over her face. “ _But you didn’t kill him. My cousins did. They had to._ ”

 

“ _Because of me._ ” Harry shook his head again, looking off into the distance. “ _He was tied to a tree and heavily drugged. But he was terrified. I can see his face, still._ ”

 

Now Ránewen’s expression became alarmed, “ _You’re not still taking it are you? There have been no great battles as of late and you haven’t said anything about—_ ”

 

“ _I am,_ ” Harry sighed. “ _I am still taking it. In very, very small doses. It’s highly addictive, so I’ve had to wean myself off it._ ”

 

“ _Wean yourself off a poison?_”

 

Another sigh, “ _Yes._ ”

 

Ránewen’s violet-eyes somehow narrowed further at his abrupt response. After a long moment of silence she nodded, “ _It’s not just that boy’s death, is it?_ ” She went on after another moment of silence when Harry didn’t answer her. “ _It’s the mortals. It’s Gondor’s king and all the others who are aging, dying, before your eyes._ ”

 

Harry let his eyes drop closed, trying to not think about the lines, wrinkles, that he’d deepened in both his and the Míriel’s illusionary-faces to make it appear as though they were aging. Lines that were really there on the faces of all his mortal comrades.

 

The gentle, familiar touch of his wife’s hand cupping his cheek and pulling his face back around towards her own made him open his eyes again, to look down upon her beautiful, ageless face. The sight of which he’d never thought would make him wince.

 

“ _Everyone warned you of this, Elerossë,_ ” Ránewen murmured softly, her initial anger apparently forgotten. “ _Lord Elrond was most vocal about it, as I recall._ ”

 

His brother-in-law hadn’t kept quiet on this matter at all. But then again he was the one among Harry’s Elven kin who’d had to watch as someone very dear to him had had to suffer mortality. That Elros had actually chosen that fate couldn’t have made it any easier for Elrond to watch his twin brother waste away and eventually not wake to greet the day.

 

But that just forced him to face another thought that he really didn’t want to, as he looked into his beloved wife’s eyes.

 

“ _When I go back to England, I may be mortal, melda nîn._ ”

 

Ránewen frowned at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “ _I know._ ”

 

“ _I may not be able to return to Arda afterwards._ ”

 

“ _Yes,_ ” his wife nodded, still frowning. “ _That is why I am going with you, of course._ ”

 

“ _But I might be mortal there._ ”

 

It was something they’d discussed before, but it wasn’t till he’d watched those wrinkles deepen around Turambar’s eyes, till he’d felt the grief at the realization that his mortal friend wouldn’t be around all that much longer, that he’d really realized how awful a situation he would be putting his wife into. Even if they defeated Voldemort with ease and suffered no serious losses, there was still the very likely chance that they would not be able to return to Arda. And Ránewen would thereafter have to watch as Harry wasted away before her eyes, till he eventually died and left her alone, a lone immortal surrounded by mortals in an alien world.

 

He’d entertained the thought of seeking out Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher’s Stone, but he was fairly certain the old wizard and his wife had passed on before Harry had even come to Arda. He’d destroyed the stone some years before that to make sure Voldemort couldn’t get his hands on it, and for the same reason probably hadn’t left any notes behind on how one might be able to create another Stone. So the odds that Harry, who was only an adequate potions brewer at best, would be able to create such a thing so that he might remain by his wife’s side while everyone continued to age and die and change around them, was unlikely.

 

“ _I know that, Elerossë._” Ránewen sighed, shaking her head slowly as she released his face and instead reached for one of his hands. She pulled it up between him, and traced the wedding band that had resided on it for almost half-a-century now. “ _It was only forty-eight years ago that I placed this ring on your hand and swore to love you forever, melda nîn. You swore much the same, and promised that my ring would serve as a reminder of that day and our vows forever._ ” She rose up on her toes to place a quick, chaste kiss on his surprised lips, dropping back down again before he could respond. “ _Surely you haven’t forgotten? We haven’t yet seen our first century as a couple yet._ ”

 

Harry shook his head. “ _Of course I haven’t forgotten, melda nîn,_ ” he replied, glancing down at the ring that graced her hand, a small smile pushing its way through his ill humor as memories of that wonderful day rose up for a moment. But he shook them away. “ _But the thought of you trapped in my world, alone, after my death—_ ”

 

The violet-eyed elleth was shaking her head as she cut him off, “ _I will not long survive your death, melda nîn._ ” She forestalls his protests by placing a pausing finger atop his lips as she continued. “ _I know you hate to hear it, but it is true. You know it is. Elves mate for eternity; our vows do not end with the death of our beloved. And I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it as many times as I need to: It is my choice to be with you, and I would much rather finish one lifetime with, in your native world, than spend all the ages of Arda alone._ ”

 

She had said this, or a variation there of, many times before now. Every single time he’d despaired at the thought of her following him to Earth and to death. But that didn’t make the thought that she would die from grief after his death any easier to bear.

 

He was surprised when a small smile suddenly lit her features. “ _What?_ ”

 

Ránewen shook her head, chuckling softly. “ _Do you remember the last time we had this discussion? In Imladris, with Arwen and the twins eavesdropping?_ ”

 

Harry nodded, though the fact that they’d had this same conversation may times before made many of them blur together, he did remember the time when his niece and nephews had been attempting to spy on them from the bushes of one of the many gardens their mother had cultivated in Imladris. “ _Yes?_ ” He still didn’t quite understand what was funny about that. Yes, their abysmal attempts to go unnoticed while arguing with each other had been pathetically endearing, but that didn’t make the serious conversation any less painful.

 

“ _I spoke with Arwen not to long about that,_ ” Ránewen shook her head, still smiling gently. “ _She brought it up while we were on a picnic._ ”

 

“ _Did she?_ ” the wizard asked, not entirely sure what to make of his niece bringing this up as a topic of conversation with his wife.

 

“ _Yes, the dear girl finds all of this quite romantic._ ”

 

Harry winced. Even if the thought of Arwen ever ending up in the same situation wasn’t painful to him, he was sure her father and mother would make it so. As would almost everyone in Elfdom. Arwen was the youngest of them, after all. The last elfling born on Middle Earth, and therefore the treasured little one of the realm.

 

“ _I’m fairly sure she hasn’t said anything of it to either of her parents, or grandparents._ ” Ránewen reassured him, shaking her head. “ _This was almost a year and a half ago, after all. I’m sure one of them would’ve mentioned it by now._ ”

 

Harry nodded, still frowning at the thought. “ _That doesn’t make the thought of her liking the precariousness of—_ ”

 

“ _It isn’t the fact that we may die for each other that she finds romantic, Elerossë!_ ” the elleth cut in, surprise clear in her eyes. “ _It’s the fact that we’re both quite willing to do so, that impresses her, I think. That we love each other so much._ ”

 

“ _Elrond and Celebrían love each other very much, as do—_ ”

 

“ _Every elf and elleth couple in Elfdom, undoubtedly,,_ ” Ránewen nodded, still smiling. “ _But we’re the unique ones. The exciting ones._ ” She shook her head. “ _You needn’t worry over it, melda nîn. The Evenstar isn’t about to go wandering around the mortal realms looking for a mortal to fall in love with. Even if she were so inclined and able to escape the protective embrace of her elders, she’d be comparing every man she met to her dear uncle. Whom the vast majority of men simply cannot measure up to._ ”

 

Harry shook his head, “ _She wouldn’t—_ ”

 

“ _And if that isn’t enough for your protective-side to accept, she’d also unconsciously be contrasting them against the likes of her father, Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer and all the other impressive male figures in her life. So the odds of her falling for a mortal are not high._ ”

 

Harry nodded slowly at that, “ _For Elrond and Celebrían’s sakes I hope not._ ”

 

Still, Arwen at least had the choice of the half-Elven, thanks to her father’s ancestry and history. If she chose to love a mortal and bind herself to him, she would actually become mortal and age alongside him till they both reached the end of their lifetime together.

 

Ránewen would not. She would remain an ageless, flawless immortal while his body withered and eventually gave out. Then it would be her grief at his death that would kill her in some way or another.

 

“ _But back to our original conversation,_ ” his wife sighed, shaking her head sadly as she undoubtedly picked up on the darkening of his thoughts once again while she laced the fingers of their hands together. “ _This war will soon be over. Nonetheless, you must talk to me, melda nîn. How else can I help you?_”

  
The wizard nodded, also sighing. “ _I am sorry, Ránewen._ ” He shook his head. “ _It was never my intention to cause you any pain._ ”

 

“ _I know that,_ ” she shook her head as if his comment was entirely ridiculous, giving his hands a light squeeze. Then she sighed, and smirked at him. “ _Though, with this discovery I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let you go to war by yourself. I can’t seem to take care of you from so far away._ ”

 

That only made his frown deepen, “ _I know you say that because you care, melda nîn. But I pray I never see you near a battlefield._ ” He gently brushed a few stray bangs out of her face. “ _It’s not a place for you._ ”

 

Ránewen sighed again, a single tear somehow slipping past her control and trailing down a pale cheek as she gazed up at him, “ _Nor is it one for you._ ”

 

Elerossë—Elf-Prince and Wizarding-Boy-Who-Lived—gently brushed the tear away. “ _Fate seems to think otherwise._ ”

 

Her hand came up to catch his, her fingers gently entwining with his own yet as she spoke. “ _And our fates are entwined, melda nîn. Our destiny is one and the same._ ”

 

~ * **Gondor’s Territory _, Dagorlad – Víressë 19, 550_** * ~

 

_CLANG!_

 

The fact that the very sensitive hearing of the Elves and one magically-part-Elf seemed to be specially selective was something Harry couldn’t help but appreciate in the beyond clamorous environment a battlefield of any sort almost certainly had to be. If not for that, he was rather sure he’d have a migraine shortly after the start of every battle he was unfortunate enough to be in.

 

For really no one, however rare an actual lucky person may be, could consider a battle a fortunate occurrence. A determinedly optimistic person could probably find something good about any battle, perhaps even one they were loosing, but the prerequisite for loss of life in the very definition of the violent scenario made Harry view it with general disfavor.

 

Still, no matter how highly the Elves valued all life, the concept of pacifism wasn’t something they generally held close. They couldn’t, really. On Earth there were, perhaps, some places where people could stay safely hidden away from conflicts and thereby be safe to frown upon anything resembling it. But on Arda it simply always came down to kill or be killed. It was something all Elves understood, and so did Harry. To live in this world you had to be willing to protect what was yours, and to defend those you held dear. To do that, violence was sometimes necessary.

 

Of course, Harry hadn’t _needed_ to become involved in Turambar’s War in the first place. Not for his family. Or for the Elven people. But he _had_ needed the experience of living with and leading mortals. Because some day he’d have to return to Earth and fulfill his prophesized destiny.

 

Though there weren’t many good things about returning to the world of his birth, either, Harry did know of two. One, he’d be able to see his childhood friends again. Two, he’d hopefully be able to get rid of the Horcrux Voldemort had planted in his forehead.

 

He hadn’t been a guest in the Golden Wood for long before Galadriel had noticed the hideous thing. Though it’d taken several years of research with _Hermione’s Tome_ to get even the vaguest idea of what the Wizards of Earth considered it. And the _Tome_ , an illegal compilation of supposedly the whole Hogwarts’ Library, had barely had any information on the dark subject at all.

 

Initially, the Elves had plied him with healing elixirs and Elven magicks to try and get rid of the evil thing. But even two of the three Elven rings of power were not able to undo whatever it was that Voldemort had done to create the famous lightning bolt scar that’d been inscribed into his forehead for most of his life.

 

Not that that was really relevant at the moment, in the heat of battle. A battle that could very well decide the war they’d been suffering through for almost a decade now.

 

When scouts had come in with news of much larger troop movements among their enemies in late Nénimë, Harry had been relieved. The end of this war was finally coming and would almost certainly be decided in Gondor’s favor.

 

He had, of course, felt at least a bit of foreboding when he’d first crossed the shifting border between the armies and directly into the area that the Easterlings still supposedly controlled because Gondor didn’t want to risk troops patrolling it. It was hard not to be at least a little intimidated when one saw a veritable sea of enemy soldiers moving across the snowy plains to form encampments less than a day’s ride from Gondor’s own encampments. Much closer than the Easterlings had dared to camp for years now.

 

But it’d meant that the end was finally there. Turambar would finally be able to avenge his father’s death and destroy enough of the Easterling forces as a whole—what with the countless suicide missions the idiotic Easterling leaders had tried to send against them already and the barely disciplined mass they were sending against them now—to finally say the war was over and it was time to go home.

 

Oh, Harry held no illusions. It would be months before they actually got home. They’d need to route out as may of the enemy warriors as possible after the battle, complete the fortifications that’d already been started along this ‘border,’ and countless other things.

 

But he was still sure that this would be the last real battle of the war.

 

Thank the Valar.

 

Who apparently were either aggrieved by the bloodshed on this field—or maybe just wanted to wash it away—because just as the battle started dying down with shouts of victory going up all around him, it started raining.

 

Plentiful drops of clean, clear water flew down from the sky to wash away blood and sweat, though adding the discomfort of impairing eyesight a bit and knowing that they’d all have to be extra careful to care for their armor afterwards and make sure none caught pneumonia in the later evening, as it was still only spring and could still be quite cool after the sun set down below the horizon. 

 

Harry sighed, shaking his head sadly as he eyed the destruction all around him even as his men—and all the other soldiers all around—cheered for all they were worth. While he wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment that the war’s end was a wonderful thing, he couldn’t stir up any desire to cheer for the countless corpses and copious amounts of blood cover the field where battle had reigned around him.

 

“Sir Hadrian!”

 

The familiar voice drew him out of his darkening musings, and he turned smoothly to offer the perfunctory bow only to be halted halfway through it as the slightly more muscular man seized him in a quick hug, slamming a strong hand onto his back in friendly celebration before withdrawing.

 

“Your majesty,” the disguised immortal offered hesitantly as the smiling king finally released him, nodding as he took a small step back. “You are well?”

 

“Well?” Turambar repeated, laughing loudly as he shook his head, his arms spread wide again. “Jubilant, is more apt a word!  We’ve won, my friend. The war is over!”

 

Harry nodded in agreement, letting a small smile steal his face as he agreed. “Indeed it is.”

 

But apparently his subdued reaction did not satisfy the mortal monarch, as a frown found its way out in response. “Why the long face, Hadrian? I’d thought you’d be no less pleased then I am at the day’s victory.”

 

Harry nodded, raising his voice to be heard over the soldiers mounting ovation. “That I am, my friend. I am.” At the skeptical look the king immediately gave him, he sighed. “I am happy to see the war’s end, of course.” Then he shook his head, “But I fear the high price it came at steals any desire I might otherwise have to celebrate.”

 

It was proof as to why Harry found it so very easy to respect the King of Gondor that his words immediately sobered the sovereign.

 

“Very true,” Turambar agreed with a sigh that would not have been audible to anyone without the great gift the Elves had of being able to focus their sense of hearing when desired. His silvery eyes went over the broken bodies all around them—both of Gondor, its allies and enemies—men mixed together in the total stillness only death could bring. Most were missing limbs or at the very least leaking liquid-life even as the living started celebrating all around them. But his knight’s observation seemed to wake the great king’s momentarily overridden sense of duty, as the man brought one dirty hand up to wipe quickly over an almost just-as dirty tunic, before raising it to his mouth and placing two fingers  just-so to emit a loud, piercing whistle.

 

Though the men’s merriment was truly thunderous, a clear testament to their joy at the positive turn of events, many still heard the attention-calling sound, and seeing it’d come from the king quickly quieted. This effectively quieted the entire field, as it only took a few moments for the others to follow suit as more and more turned to see why their fellows had stopped so suddenly, and quickly followed suit themselves upon finding the answer.

 

Though Harry wasn’t surprised to see that it was really only the western-born men that turned their complete attention to the king. The Rhovanions’ and Rohirrim quickly following their comrades examples as they watched their own masters cut through the crowd to stand by Turambar. But their eastern-allies had already taken over the very necessary job of rounding up what remained of their enemies’ ruined army.

 

“Celebration is certainly called for,” though loud with Turambar’s own well-practiced ability to project, the subtle sonorous Harry wandlessly cast did wonders to carry the king’s words to the rest of the army. “But the time for it has not quite come. As our Eastern-born friends are already attending to what remains of our enemies, we must see to our honorably wounded, and to our victorious dead. Find your companies and await your commander’s orders.”

 

Still high from the exhilarating rush of a great victory, the men were not even half as orderly and quick as could normally be expected of them. But they were still seasoned soldiers and accustom to following orders, so they did as they were told and gradually divided into their assigned companies even as their commanders swiftly made their way to the kings for further instructions.

 

Harry used the opportunity to quickly end the sonorous charm before Turambar found his voice excessively loud when he wasn’t trying to be. When most of the captains had arrived, Harry spoke up again. “Captains Lloyd and Zane fell some time ago, your majesty,” he reminded his friend, not wanting to wait for two of the missing commanders that would never be coming.

 

Turambar nodded, “Yes, they were in the initial charge,” he recalled, his voice appropriately quieter without Harry’s spell or his own projection. “But where are Ogden and Garrett?”

 

“Captain Ogden fell also, my lord,” Captain Steffen spoke up.

 

“And I believe it was Captain Garrett’s company who pursued what remained of the enemy forces,” Harry added when no one else seemed to recall the fact. He turned his gaze back to the king as he finished speaking, satisfied at a glance that the Míriel brothers clearly had his own company under control.

 

“Very well,” Turambar nodded again. “Sir Hadrian, take your company to aid our missing captain. Bring them—and any prisoners you can manage—back to us.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Harry bowed again, before turning on his heel and making his way over to where his troops were waiting under his lieutenants sharp eyes, even as Turambar began giving further instructions to clean up the mess all around them and truly put an end to the war.

 

~ * **_Minas Anor, Gondor – Lótessë 22, 550_** * ~

 

The pale petals that rained down upon the returning army had a very subtle fragrance all their own. But it was barely noticeable with the joyous clamor that also filled the air all around the city, and undoubtedly well past its fortified walls. Wide smiles split countless faces as people waived to missed loved ones. Shrieks of delight resounded all around as ladies blew kissed to returned lovers, even as small children craned their necks to see the almost forgotten—or perhaps never seen—faces of fathers, uncles, cousins and brothers.

 

Harry had no doubt that at the pace their parade had set it would take the better part of the morning for the whole army to make its way into the celebrating city. Which made him all the more glad for the fact that he was near the front of the procession, and that he also knew that Turambar had no plans to address the army or his people until the following morning. No, today was reserved entirely for returning to their loved ones.

 

The sheer bliss all around was heartening to see after so much chaos and bloodshed. Though his own heard ached at the knowledge that his own lady was not here, he knew Ránewen was really only a thought away _and_ he’d been away from his better half’s side for much less time then most of the men here could claim.

 

Still, he had to swallow his own melancholy as he watched Gondor’s King seize the fair Lindethiél in a joyous embrace before his lips locked with hers while their grown children and grandchildren smiled wide and the rest or the court received their own loved ones with just barely restrained glee.

 

“Such a somber face!”

 

The unexpectedly well-known voice actually made Harry stumble as he finished dismounting his loyal stallion, all but dropping the reins into a waiting stable boy’s hands as he spun around, eyes wide.

 

“If you’re not careful, my love, I shall fear you’ve been using this war to avoid me!” his wife teased him, her purple eyes sparkling with happiness.

 

And it was undoubtedly Ránewen who stood there. The necklace he’d carefully enchanted some years before around her neck to careful conceal her heritage by illusion, hiding the natural pale glow all Elves had along with her pointed ears, and an added weak notice-me-not thrown in to conceal just how perfectly beautiful she was. Though that alone wasn’t nearly enough to keep her from standing out from the ladies all around, beautifully bedecked in the currently popular fashion. Though he couldn’t even guess as to how she might’ve known the current fashions in Gondor. The notice-me-not did little to conceal her, for she was the full moon among stars. How he hadn’t seen her when Aelan first brought him into the courtyard was just as much a mystery. Akin to how he hadn’t immediately sensed her presence—though from the mischievous look that was mingled with her happiness he suspected she’d been cloaking herself behind mental shields his mother had helped her build.

 

But really, none of that mattered to him as he followed Turambar’s very acceptable example and seized his own wife for a long, blissful kiss.

 

~ * ** _Cara Galadhon, Lothlórien – Cermië 25, 550_** * ~

 

Harry had reviewed this particular memory, and others around it, before. And every time he was more than a little troubled by many of the implications his almost-fifteen-year-old self had missed.

 

_“They’ll wake him if they don’t shut up!” Bill Weasley whispered nervously from where he was leaning against the wall near young Harry, glancing in between the door to the hospital room and the bed the younger was just starting to stir on._

Harry had giveen up trying to figure out how, exactly, he was able to see this in the penseive, as the memory came from the younger version of himself, who had yet to open his eyes. Celeborn and Elrond had dicussed it in some detail, but Galadriel—the one person who had any real expertise in the arts of magical sight—had kept her opinion to herself, smirking all the while.

 

_“What are they shouting about?” Mrs. Weasley whispered back, even more anxious then her eldest. She was hovering between the end of the bed and the door, looking like she was contemplating storming out into the hallway, but was just a litle too anxious to actually do it. “Nothing can have happened, can it?”_

_Young Harry finally opened his eye and looked around blearily. For the fourteen-year-old hadn’t had his vision corrected and desperately needed the glasses that were not on his face. Someone had taken them off and placed them on the table next to his bed, not that Harry could actually see that._

_The two Weasleys kept talking, neither having noticed that the Boy-Who-Lived was awake. Ron and Hermione were also there, sitting near Harry’s bed, their eyes darting back and forth between the older Weasleys and the hospital wing door._

_“That’s Fudge’s voice,” Mrs. Weasley murmured softly, frowning deeply towards the door. “And that’s Minerva McGonagall, isn’t it? But what are they arguing about?”_

_Finally young Harry was awake enough to hear the people running towards the Hospital Wing, too. Which meant that anyone purusing the memory in the pensieve could, also._

Which begged the question on why anyone reviewing the memory in the Penseive could see what the younger Harry could not but couldn’t hear what he couldn’t, but again it was the kind of thing Harry had given up trying to figure out quite some time ago.

_“Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva—” Cornelius Fudge was saying loudly._

_But Professor McGonagall cut him off. “You never should have brought it inside the castle!” she yelled clearly furious. “When Dumbledore finds out—”_

_The doors burst open just as Harry sat up, guaranteeing that neither Mrs. Weasley or her son noticed his action as their attention was entirely divereted to the Minister of Magic as he came striding up the ward with the furious Professor McGonagall and an also angry-looking, but much quieter, Professor Snape on his heels. Meanwhile, young Harry managed to find his glasses and slip them on, still unnoticed._

_“Where’s Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded of Mrs. Weasley when his eyes landed on her._

_The Weasley matriarch shook her head angrily, “He’s not here,” she snapped back. “This is a hospital wing, Minister, and don’t you think you’d do better to—”_

_She was cut off by the doors open again, this time to admit the school’s headmaster, who was taking in all the people—particuarlly the very angry ones—with worried eyes._

_“What had happened?” the old wizard entreated sharply as he focused on Fudge and McGonagall. “Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I’m surprised at you—I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch—”_

_“There is no need to stand guard over him any more, Dumbledore!” she shrieked, glaring at Fudge all the while. “The Minister has seen to that!” She was trembling with fury, her hands balled into fists and angry blotches of color covering her cheeks._

Harry could distinctly remember being a bit amazed at the sight, as he could clearly see his younger self was. He’d never seen the Transfiguration Professor lose control like this.

_It was Snape, however, who actually clued everyone into what was going on, in a low but clearly angry voice. “When we told Mr. Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight’s events, he seemed to feel his personal safety was was in question. He insisted on summoning a Dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch—”_

_“I told him you wouldn’t agree, Dumbledore!” McGonagall cut in, her face a storm cloud with anger lighting her eyes like lightning. “I told him you would never allow Dementors to set foot in the castle, but—”_

_“My dear woman!” Fudge roared, also looking angrier then young Harry had ever seen him. “As Minister for Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when I interview a possibly dangerous—”_

_But Professor McGongall’s voice drowned out Fudge’s with ease._

_“The moment that—that thing entered the room,” she was trembling as she pointed at Fudge, now screaming her words, “it swooped down on Crouch and—and—”_

Even having already known what’d happened before dropping into this particular memory again, the mention of the Dementor’s Kiss never failed to freeze Harry’s gut for a moment in sheer horror.

 

His time among the Elves, with their histories, beliefs and customs, certainly didn’t help in that regard. The closest comparison that could be made to the Dementor’s Kiss here on Arda was the creation of Orcs in ancient times.

 

And even that wasn’t quite as terrible as the idea of a monstrous being that could suck someone’s soul out of their mouth; surely a fate worse than death.

 

Yes, the ancient Elves who’d had the misfortne to fall into Morgoth’s hands had suffered a truly terrible fate. They were enslaved and tortured, eventually twisted into wickid footsoldiers for evil, undoubtedly made specifically to spite Eru Illuvatar’s creations.

 

But at least those Elves had an escape. Though their bodies were horrible befouled to become Orcs, their souls were not touched. Because Elves could leave their body at will, and escape to the Halls of Mandos.

 

Yes, their deaths were terrible, but at least they could die.

 

The victims of Dementors didn’t have that same luxury. Elerossë had wondered if an Elf would be able to escape a Dementor by fleeing to Mandos, or not. But he knew men couldn’t.

 

While an Elf could leave their body before death and in so doing cause their death, mortals had to die before their souls could, supposedly, go anywhere. So when a Dementor went to Kiss them, their soul was there for the taking. Waiting to be sucked out and devoured.

 

It terrified Elerossë to wonder if a mortal’s soul experienced anything after death. If all the souls Dementors’ stole were kept inside the Dementor forever, in a kind of eternal torment.

 

The Hogwarts library said very little about Dementors. And most of it Harry had known before coming here, thanks to Remus and Hermione. So _Hermione’s Tome_ hadn’t proved too useful in that regard. It couldn’t answer his questions.

 

He wasn’t sure if he should be bothered by that or not.

 

On one hand, he wanted to know.

 

On the other, he really didn’t.

 

_“Why he killed them?”_

Fudge’s loud blustering drew Harry out of his thoughts, and he was a bit surprised to see he really hadn’t missed more than a few moments.

 

_“Well, that’s no mystery, is it? He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who’s instructions!”_

_“Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said, his quiet voice somehow easily cutting into the Minister’s diatribe. “Those people’s deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body.”_

_Fudge was blinking dazedly as he stared at Dumbledore. He looked like someone had just swung a heavy weight into his face. Clearly he was having more than a little trouble believing what he was hearing, as he soon made clear. “You—You-Know-Who ... returned? Preposterous!” he sputtered loudly, still goggling at the older wizard. “Come now, Dumbledore—”_

_“As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you,” Dumbledore cut in again, his voice no louder than before, but still more then enough to stop Fudge for the moment. “We heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, hand how Voldemort—learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins—went to free him from his father, and used him to capture Harry. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort return.”_

_“See here, Dumbledore,” Fudge started saying, a smile beginning to cross his face._

_Young Harry looked astonished._

Harry, on the other hand, was disgusted.

 

_“You—You can’t seriously believe that. You-Know-Who—back? Come now, come now... certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who’s orders—but to take the words of a lunatic like that...”_

Harry could easily see that the Minister was trying to spin everything already.

 

Though, to be fair, hindsight is twenty-twenty **and** he had all of the  Daily Prophets that he’d neglected to read in their entirety the following summer, and had found himself infuriated by the moment he actually took a good look at them.

 

The smear complaint the Minister had launched against both Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, himself, was as ridiculous as it was despicable.

 

And it was here that all of it, obviously, started. Here where Fudge decided to ignore all the warnings he was being given and stick his head in the sand, not wanting to deal with the terrible times that **were** coming. Apparently not intelligent enough to realize that whether he wanted to face the troubles that were to come or not, those troubles would still come and the Wizarding World would still have to deal with them.

 

What Harry hadn’t yet been able to decide, as he kept changing his mind on the matter, was whether or not Fudge had, upon hearing whatever he’d been told about Crouch Jr., if he hadn’t already decided he didn’t like how it looked and, in order to truly cover it up and be able to spin it however he liked, brought the Dementor along not as protection: but as an executioner.

 

From one side, the idea of bringing a Dementor along as any kind of protection was really rather ridiculous.

 

But, then again, this was the same Minister that though surrounding Hogwarts with hundreds of Dementors was a good way to protect them from one wizard.

 

From the other side, also, was the fact that Harry wasn’t really sure Fudge was smart enough to realize he needed Barty Crouch Jr. dead if he wanted to cover Voldemort’s rise up...

 

_“When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort,” Dumbledore replied steadily. “He witnessed Lord Voldemort’s rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office.” The Headmaster glanced over towards Harry then, and saw he was awake, but shook his head. “I am afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight.”_

_Fudge was still smiling that horrendous little smile as he also glanced at Harry, but then looked back at Dumbledore. “You are… are prepared to take Harry’s work on this, are you, Dumbledore?”_

_There was a moment’s silence, which was broken by Sirius growling. It’d surprised Harry, because he hadn’t realized Sirius was still there. But the Grim-like Animagus was crouched by Harry’s bed, and his hackles were raised as he bared his teeth at Fudge._

_“Certainly I believe Harry,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes now blazing. “I heard Crouch’s confession, and I heard Harry’s account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; the two stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer.”_

_Fudge glanced at young Harry again, still smiling, before speaking again. “You are prepared to believe that You-Know-Who has returned, on the word of a lunatic murder, and a boy who... well...” He shot Harry another look, and realization visibly dawned on the young wizards face._

_“You’ve been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr. Fudge,” young Harry murmured quietly, making Ron, Hermione, Bill and Mrs. Weasley all jump in surprise. They hadn’t realized he was awake._

And no matter how many times he watched this memory, it never ceased to amaze Harry; how **young** he sounded.

 

_Fudge reddened slightly, but a defiant and obstinate look came over his face. “And if I have?” he demanded, before looking back at Dumbledore again. “If I have discovered that you’ve been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place—”_

_“I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experience in his scar?” Dumbledore cut in, his voice still quiet, but decidedly cold._

_“You admit that he has been having those pains, then?” Fudge answered quickly, his smile more a smirk now. “Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly—hallucinations?”_

_“Listen to me, Cornelius,” Dumbledore took a step towards the Minister, and like earlier in the day, he seemed to radiate that indefinable sense of power that Harry had felt after Dumbledore had Stunned Crouch Jr. “Harry is as sane as you or I. I believe it hurts him when Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous.”_

_Fudge had taken a half step back from Dumbledore, but he was stubborn. “You’ll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I’ve never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm before—”_

_“Look, I saw Voldemort come back!” teenage Harry shouted, unwisely interrupting and drawing further attention to himself. He tried to get out of bed again, but Mrs. Weasley forced him back. “I saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy—”_

_Snape made a sudden movement, but as the teenage Boy-Who-Lived looked at him, the Potions Master’s eyes flew to Fudge._

_“Malfoy was cleared!” Fudge objected, visibly affronted. “A very old family—donations to excellent causes—”_

As if any of that actually mattered; but plainly to Fudge it really did. A sad thing, when money mattered so much more than morals to a man in such a high place of authority.

 

_“McNair!”_

_“Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!”_

_“Avery—Nott—Crabbe—Goyle—”_

_“You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!” Fudge angrily announced, his smirk now a sneer. “You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heavens’ sake, Dumbledore—the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year, too—his tales are getting taller, and you’re still swallowing them—the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he’s trustworthy?”_

_“You fool!” Professor McGonagall cried. “Cedric Diggory! Mr. Crouch! These deaths were not the random works of a lunatic!”_

_“I see no evidence to the contrary!” Fudge shouted, his anger now matching hers, so much so his face was turning purple. “It seems to me that you are determined to start a panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!”_

Harry could still remember how astonished he’d felt. He’d previously thought of Fudge as little more than a pompous, blustering, but generally kind figure. So the short, angry wizard was an astonishing sight.

 

Made all the worse that Fudge was the Minister of Magic, who was refusing, point-blank, to accept the prospect of disruption to his comfortable and ordered world. Refusing to believe that Voldemort could have risen again; and thereby leaving the world open to and utterly unprepared for the psychopath’s future attacks.

 

_“Voldemort has returned,” Dumbledore repeated, coldly calm. “If you accept that fact straight away, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the Dementors—”_

_“Preposterous!” shouted Fudge again—_

A familiar hand slipping into his own distracted Harry, and he turned to find his wife shaking her head as she took in the scene.

 

“ _Personally,_ ” Ránewen sighed, “ _I think a better first step would be to destroy all the Dementors. What good would just removing those monsters do? And where would you remove them to?_ ”

 

Harry shook his head. “ _I’m not sure the Wizarding World has ever really found a way **to** destroy Dementors, melda nîn. Though I do agree._ ”

 

Then, not really wanting to subject his wife to this continued scene—though she’d seen it a number of times before—Elerossë looked skyward and his magic pulled them out of the _Penseive_ ’s grip.

 

“ _What drew you to that memory,_ verno nîn?” Ránewen asked curiously. “ _You only just returned from one war, why look to the start of another one?_ ” (my husband)

 

Harry shrugged as he drew the memory out of the _Penseive_ and directed it back to the _Altium Globe_. “ _One day I will have to return to that world. And Celeborn thinks that that war will still be waiting for me. We’re not sure if I will have missed anything or not—if time moves differently between our worlds or if I would merely land there centuries after everyone I knew that has died, in a world with_ Voldemort _in power and whatnot._ ”

 

“ _Firmaidrim is your nemesis, yes, but he was born mortal._ ” [3]

 

Firmaidrim was what all the elves who knew of Elerossë’s native world and nemesis called Voldemort. It was, technically the name the madman had chosen for himself, taken into the Elves’ tongue, with the added prefix of “dark” added on, as was only suitable. Though why exactly the mortal wizard had chosen to create a name for himself that meant “fight from death” Harry didn’t quite understand. If the wizards of Earth were a little more educated it wasn’t something that should have enhanced the dark wizard’s fearsome reputation. But, then again, he’d already noticed that logic and its like didn’t really seem to have too strong a hold on the wizards of Earth.

 

 “ _As was I, melda nîn._ ” Harry pointed out, continuing quickly before she could say anything. “ _But we are rather sure that his_ Horcruxes _make him immortal, in a way._ ”

 

Ránewen sighed, nodding in unhappy agreement. “ _Yes, I know._ ” Then she cocked her to the side slightly, giving him a look of clear consideration. “ _The Minister’s actions bother you as well._ ”

 

Harry nodded, frowning severely. “ _Of course_ Fudge’s _actions bother me!_ ” he shook his head. “ _Though I really can’t decide if the man is deliberately malignant or just stupid._ ”

 

“ _The battle lines being drawn in that confrontation alone are rather obvious,_ ” his wife agreed.

 

“ _Even without knowledge of his future campaign against_ Dumbledore _and myself in the media._ ” Harry nodded again, before sighing. “ _Though I can’t help but wonder if he was honestly planning something like this even before he’d spoken to the Headmaster._ ” At his wife’s slightly confused look, he elaborated. “ _Doesn’t it seem strange that_ Fudge _would choose a_ Dementor _, of all things, as a bodyguard? Rather than an_ Auror _or two?_ ”

 

Ránewen nodded slowly again, realization quickly dawning. “ _He would have been relatively well informed of who he was going to meet and why. You think he wanted the_ Dementor _to kill the prisoner. To silence him._ ”

 

“ _That is what’s crossed my mind more then once while watching this,_ ” Harry snorted. “ _But I really might be giving the man too much credit. Given that he thought a host of_ Dementors _would make good guards for the school just the year before, when_ Sirius _was believed to have been after me, he might actually think_ Dementors _make good guards._ ” Then he shook his head. “ _It’s just, every one else I talked to about_ Dementors _was almost terrified of them. And understandably so._ ”

 

Once more, Ránewen nodded her concurrence, before sighing softly. “ _And if his intentions were deliberately malicious on this occasion, rather then the actions of an imbecile—_ ”

 

“ _I have to wonder if the_ Dementors _that attacked me at the end of the school year weren’t ordered to do so, if they had the chance._ ” He rubbed his brow as the beginnings of headache began to make itself known. “ _Though the information available to us on_ Dementors _, from the_ Hermione’s _Tome_ _are limited, the section on just how they came to serve the Ministry makes it rather clear that they are really slaves to the wills of whomever there Master is. Which, at this point, is supposed to be the Minister of Magic._ ”

 

“ _So you think that_ Minister Fudge _might be loyal to Firmaidrim?_ ”

 

“ _Or he’s forwarding his own agenda, or yet another madman’s plots, or he’s just an idiot._ ” Harry sighed as he shook his head again. “ _We won’t really know till I get back to England._ ”

 

Ránewen nodded again, before moving a step closer to enclose him in a tight embrace, gently pulling his lips down to her own for several quick, chaste kisses. She pulled away before he could deepen the kiss, but one of her arms remained around his waist while her opposite hand slipped from the back of his head down to his shoulder in a comforting grip. “ _Then there really is no reason to be spending so many hours worrying over it, is there?_ ” Her hand left his shoulder so she could place one finger on his lips to forestall his protests. “ _It’s late, and you’re tired. Come to bed, verno nîn._ ” (my husband)

 

And like a good husband, Harry obediently followed as she dragged him easily out of the clearing and back to their telain. His birth-world could wait a while longer.

 

~ * **_Minas Anor, Gondor – Cermië 29, 550_** * ~

 

“ _I still can’t believe I agreed to do this._ ”

 

Harry glanced at his wife, one eyebrow rising. “ _I thought you liked Turambar and Lindethiél?_ ”

 

“ _Well, yes, but what if he doesn’t like me?_ ”

 

The prince blinked, “ _He seemed to like you well enough. As I recall, he actually hugged you in front of at least half his court when he met you. Starting rumors that you were a long-lost sister of some sort,_ ” he shook his head. “ _A memory that still rather amazes me. Especially since Turambar stated in his last letter that those rumors are getting more and more outrageous. One would think Gondor would know Princess Mirima has always been his only sibling._ ”

 

Ránewen shook her head. “ _But everyone was so happy with the war’s ending then, what if he decides he doesn’t like me now? Mortals can be so very fickle! And the twins said there must be something wrong with my amulet, since some of the rumors said I had to be of Elven-descent! What—_ ”

 

Harry stopped her by placing a gentle finger over her lips. He shook his head and withdrew his hand, smiling even as she kept frowning. “ _You don’t have anything to worry about, melda nîn. Turambar will love you. I’ve yet to meet anyone who does not adore you once they get to know you. You’re far too likable for that. You’re among the most compassionate, fun and smart people I’ve ever met._ ” Then he gently tapped her chin, shaking his head at her second worry. “ _And I made your amulet with far more care then I ever put into my own or the twins. It’s not my fault that beauty such as yours cannot be concealed. You will draw admirers wherever you go. I know this. And so long as they accept that you’re taken, I care not. But my magic will not fail you._ ”

 

Ránewen looked down, before sighing. “ _I know, melda nîn. I’m sorry—_ ”

 

“ _Don’t be,_ ” he cut in gently, shaking his head as dutifully pulled her cloak out of the massive wardrobe that had come with the impressive set of rooms that had been provided for them and gently swung it around her shoulders before neatly bringing the clasps together with the ease of long practice. “ _We weren’t here for very long before, and I admit I did frequently pull us into the background and left at the first opportunity._ ”  


“ _Veryan said you usually do that,_ ” Ránewen commented lightly. “ _Try to hide in the background, I mean._ ”

 

Harry sighed, “ _I certainly **tried**. But Turambar rarely let me._ ”

 

Ránewen laughed, bringing up another change he had to make to her amulet as the musical sound was a beautiful sound that was very distinctly associated with the first-born. “ _Yes, Voronwë told me that, too._ ” She shook her head, her own nervousness apparently forgotten in the face of his slight annoyance. “ _But really, melda nîn, does it surprise you that a successful leader would be able to recognize another leader?_ ”

 

“ _Well,_ ” Harry blinked again, then shook his head. “ _No, but—_ ”

 

“ _But nothing._ ” Ránewen interrupted him, placing a gentle hand over his mouth to force silence as she smiled at him. “ _It was a part of you even before you became a son to Galadriel and Celeborn. Before you became a prince of Elfdom. You were always born to lead. And when you entered Turambar’s life, even in disguise, you were a gifted prince._ ”

 

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “ _But it wasn’t really what I came here to learn._ ”

 

“ _Oh no?_ ” Ránewen raised an eyebrow now, shaking her head in bemusement. “ _Come now, melda nîn. You can’t honestly be telling me that you expect to be a mere foot soldier in the fight again Firmaidrim._ ”

 

“ _I suppose not._ ” Harry agreed, shaking his head. “ _I certainly won’t be a child whenever the Valar deem it the time to return me. Nor would they bother for a lowly soldier, I suppose._ ”

 

“ _I don’t doubt it. And no matter how much it hurts us to watch you bear the burdens of destiny, we will not ask you to forsake your birth-world._ ”

 

Harry shook his head in sad agreement, this wasn’t a new conversation at all. Before he could reply a knock on the main door to their chambers drew their attention.

 

_*KNOCK* *KNOCK*_

 

“Yes?” Harry called as he made his way into the common area, his wife a few steps behind him. “Come in.”

 

The maid that pushed the thick door open just far enough for her to slide herself in couldn’t have been more then fourteen-years-old. But she was probably working hard for money her family needed, and in this society she’d soon be married herself, so Harry kindly ignored the blush that lit her cheeks as he smiled kindly as her.

 

“Clara, isn’t it?” he asked, to receive a rapid nod in response.

 

“Y-Yes, milord, milady.” The maid curtsied a bit deeper then was really necessary, before continuing. “The-The King invites you, Sir Hadrian, and the Lady Raina, to dine with the royal family this evenings, if you are not too tired from your long journey.”

 

Harry shook his head, suppressing the urge to sigh at the overt formalities that he was sure were deliberate on Turambar’s part. “Thank you, Clara. Please tell His Majesty that Raina and I would delighted.”

 

“Yes, my lord—”

 

This time Harry did stop her. “I am not a lord of Gondor, Clara. You needn’t address me as such.”

 

The young woman was clearly horrified by the very idea, as her hazel eyes all to clearly depicted while she bobbed another curtsy while shaking her head frantically. In fact, she was shaking her head so much that she distinctly wobbled through the curtsy, almost toppling over. “My lor—Sir Hadrian is champion of the realm!” then she blushed. “I mean no disrespect, my lord, but—”

 

But Harry really didn’t want to hear it. “Never mind, Clara. Please take my response to the King.”

 

A look of clear relief replaced her earlier mortification as she bobbed another, slightly less shaky curtsy. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

 

Ránewen waited until the young woman had closed the door to the hall behind her before giggling softly. “ _Champion of the realm, hmm?_ ”

 

Harry shook his head, groaning softly. “ _I’m not sure I **want** to know just what stories Turambar’s been spreading in my absence._ ”

 

Now his wife laughed, “ _Well, you **are** the only ‘man’ a King of Gondor has knighted in over a century,_ ” she shook her head. “ _King Turambar may be many things, but a fool is not one of them. Knighthood was the perfect way around your not wanting to be ennobled in his service._ ”

 

“ _Yes, I suppose it was,_ ” Harry agreed, still frowning. “ _He knows it, too. He’s been quite smug about it every time it comes up. I swear he specifically did it to get around my not wanting to become a peer of the realm._ ” He shook his head when his wife laughed again. “ _I shouldn’t think you’d find this so funny. My being the so-called ‘Champion of the Realm’ almost certainly means I will have to spend quite a bit more time here after I’ve finished my term of military service._ ”

 

Ránewen shrugged, “ _Yes, melda nîn. I know that. But then I think I know you better then you know yourself,_ ” now she was smirking. “ _You weren’t going to merely abandon your mortal friend after the war ended. Not when he’s really become a friend to you. I’d expected we would be returning to Minas Arnor frequently throughout the duration of Turambar’s reign._ ”

 

Harry blinked at her for several seconds, then shook his head, grinning a little. “ _I suppose you do know me better then I know myself, melda nîn._ ” Then he frowned, “ _But I thought you didn’t want me to—_ ”

 

“ _I want you to be happy, verno nîn._ ” His wife cut him off, her amethyst eyes serious as she locked gazes with his. “ _I would not stop you from visiting and looking after your friend for what time you can._ ” Then she smirked. “ _Though I certainly expect to be well compensated for my sacrifices._ ”

 

Harry’s smile in response was almost a smirk as he moved over to her and gently grasped her waist. “ _I think I can manage that,_ ” he murmured, before leaning down for a kiss.

 

_*KNOCK* *KNOCK*_

 

The pair froze, their lips almost touching, before they both drew back a little with a sigh, shooting equally disgruntled looks towards the door to the hall.

 

Harry stepped back, releasing his wife—as Gondorian propriety demanded—before calling out, “Yes?” he suppressed a wince as he saw the amused glance his wife sent him even as he, too, heard the barely-there annoyance in his voice.

 

Young Clara stepped just barely into the room again, her face as red as a tomato as she bobbed another curtsy. “A-Apologies, my lord, my lady. I-I for-forgot to inform you th-that the r-royal family will be dining in the lesser dining hall, starting shortly after the next bell. H-Her Majesty, the Queen, hopes that will not be t-too inconvenient?”

 

Harry deliberately didn’t look at his wife as he suppressed an amused smile. “Please tell Her Majesty that that will be fine, Clara. And that we look forward to it.”

 

“Yes, my lord!” Clara curtsied yet again, before backing quickly into the hall, closing the door only just slowly enough to avoid it obviously slamming shut.

 

“ _Well,_ ” Ránewen was definitely smirking now. “ _That doesn’t give us all that much time to get ready, does it?_ ” She glanced at him, shaking her head as she sighed. “ _Pity_.”

 

He glared at her as she moved quickly out of the main chambers and into the slightly smaller bed room that was intended to be her private sanctum. Then, with a sigh, he too turned to head for his wardrobe and get ready for supper.

 

~ * **_Cara Galadhon, Lothlórien – Cermië 1, 551_** * ~

 

Harry was smiling as he apparated into the Golden Wood, his home. The ease of repeated practice had him ready for the form that slammed into him and captured him in a vice grip, so this time he didn’t even stumble as he caught his wife. Though he did raise an eyebrow as he looked down at her. “ _Come now,_ melda nîn _. I’ve barely been gone a month._ ”

 

“ _So you didn’t miss me then?_ ” Ránewen frowned at him.

 

Her husband rolled his eyes as he shook his head, giving her form a gentle squeeze. “ _No, no. Of course I missed you,_ melda nîn _. I’m just not sure—Actually, no. I think I’ll stop that thought there and just say that I did, of course, miss you._ ” He looked up and smiled widely as he saw all the others that were waiting for him also, though he’d expected them just as much as he expected the amused, indulgent smiles they were wearing. “ _We’ve missed all of you,_ ” he added, nodding to indicate the amused Míriel twins that had side-along apparated with him before gesturing to all the family members that’d gathered to await their arrival.

 

His sister’s whole family was here, but they held back out of respect to his parent. His wife released him, stepping back with an amused grin as his mother approached to hug him.

 

“ _And we missed you, ion nîn._ ” Galadriel spoke softly, though everyone in the clearing could hear her quite clearly. After a moment’s embrace, she moved back and looked down into his eyes. Though his time with the Elves had more then repaired the damage years of malnutrition had caused, his foster-mother and many other elves were still a bit taller than him. Ránewen was unusually short for an elleth, though even she would be considered tall among mortals. “ _Your tenure in Gondor’s service is complete now?_ ”

 

Harry nodded, though it was hardly something he needed to confirm for any here. He suspected many of them had been keeping closer track then he had. “ _Yes, our ten years of service are now done,_ ” he shook his head. “ _King Turambar offered further promotions in the army—_ ”

 

“ _Or the court!_ ” Veryan interjected, grinning even as his identical twin also spoke up with the same look on his face.

 

“ _As an advisor or a lord!_ ”

 

“ _But,_ ” Harry deliberately continued as if neither had spoken. “ _He was expecting our refusals. I agreed to keep in contact with carrier-falcons, though._ ”

 

Galadriel nodded approvingly. “ _I suppose we could expect no less. Welcome home, ion nîn._ ”

 

“Hannon le, Naneth,” the wizard returned, bowing his head slightly as she tilted her own head down to place a kiss on his brow.

 

Finally the Lady of Light released him, giving her husband a chance to clasp his forearms in the typical greeting of Elvish warriors, offering a proud nod of approval before releasing him to his sister’s affectionate assault.

 

After everyone had had the opportunity to offer their own greetings, Lord Celeborn indicated the exit of the clearing which led to a public area of Caras Galadhon. “ _Now come, ion nîn, there are quite a few more people who would like to welcome you home._ ”

 

“Adar! Naneth! Ránewen!” Harry groaned before continuing with his complaint, “ _I distinctly recall agreeing to a small dinner. Not a celebration._ ”

 

Lord Celeborn was actually grinning. “ _As a prince of Elfdom,_ ion nîn _, you cannot rightly deny your people the pleasure of welcoming you home!_ ”

 

“ _It would be very bad form,_ ” Ránewen interjected with a grin as she looped her arm through his and then gently tugged him out of the clearing with her.

 

~ * **_Minas Anor, Gondor – Urimë 29, 553_** * ~

 

Harry shook his head as he took in the sad procession. Narthía, wife of Gondor’s previous king, Rómendacil, and mother to the reigning King Turambar, had succumbed to old age just a few days prior and the entire nation was now in mourning with the royal family.

 

The death’s of their Dúnedain-descended rulers always came as a shock to the poor people of Gondor. Though most of the mortals of Gondor were long-lived, it was really only the upper classes that reaped the obvious benefits of their natural longevity. As a result, the royals especially seemed almost immortal to their subjects.

 

Narthía had wed Rómendacil one-hundred-sixty-three years ago, when she was sixteen; which was very young for one of the Dúnedain, but love had its way in this case. Most of the common people mourning her death now were not old enough to have witnessed her wedding; many of them grew up with her as their beloved queen. Though some of them were old enough to remember the time her father-in-law ruled. Still, at just shy of her eighteenth-decade, Narthía had been a constant, an accepted icon of the royal family. And now she was gone.

 

Harry had to swallow back the darker thoughts that such ideas brought to mind. That if time passed on Earth at the same rate that it did on Middle Earth, if Celeborn, Elrond and Galadriel were wrong in their assumptions that the Valar would not allow him to be sent back centuries too late, then when he returned he would know no one. If almost five-hundred years had gone by on Earth, even if Voldemort hadn’t won, and if none of his friends had died fighting without him, they’d still have died of long age long before now.

 

He almost felt bad for thinking it, but Harry couldn’t help but think that at least Narthía didn’t die before the war ended. At least Turambar had had these last three years with his mother, and all the years before the war as well. Harry, himself, hadn’t really known his birth mother. Though Galadriel had certainly stepped belatedly into the role quite admirably, and Mrs. Weasley had almost acted like a mother for him on Earth, Harry couldn’t help but regret the fact that he’d never really known either of his birth parents. Because they’d died for him. Protecting him.

 

“Sir Hadrian, Lady Raina,” Queen Lindethiél nodded to both of them, barely moving from the position she’d held at her husband’s side for the last hour, where the royals received regrets from well-wishers. “Thank you for coming. I hope you found your apartments suitable?”

 

“We did, Your Majesty, as always. Thank you.” Harry bowed to the mortal monarchs, his graceful wife’s arm never leaving his own as she dropped a poised curtsy and rose from it with enviable ease. He looked up into his friend’s eyes, finding the depression and numbness he’d almost expected there; though the silver pools still held the intelligent glint he was used to seeing. “We deeply regret your loss and wish you all the best that can be hoped for you, Your Majesty, and all of your family.”

 

“Thank you, Sir Hadrian,” Turambar nodded to him, making several of the courtiers that were standing nearby start, while the queen smiled slightly as she gently squeezed her husband’s forearm. The king hadn’t spoken to most of the people that had come before Harry and his wife, so that he’d choose to speak now surprised many. Though his wife and son didn’t look at all surprised.

 

“I understand that Princess Alinniel’s wedding is not going to be postponed?” Ránewen spoke up, the Elven musicality of her gentle voice just-barely concealed by Harry’s magical amulet of concealment.

 

“No indeed, Lady Raina,” Crown Prince Atanatar confirmed with a nod as small smile stole both his face and most of the other royals. “Most of my father’s advisors’ thought it best that the happy occasion not be delayed, which I know my sister appreciates.”

 

Princess Alanara, Atanatar’s wife, spoke up also then. “It was also the Queen-Mother’s will that her mourning-period not delay Alinniel’s day of joy. Though she knew we would miss her, she felt Alinniel has waited long enough for the next step of her life.”

 

Alinniel had just entered her thirty-fifth year. Turambar had become exceedingly over-protective of his youngest after his second daughter, Alethiel, had died in childbirth. Then the war had started and the vast majority of Gondor’s finest had become tied up in it. So it wasn’t any wonder that the princess was marrying so late in life, though as one of the Dúnedain she still had plenty of her life left to live and didn’t look a day over twenty, if that.

 

“You will be staying for the wedding?” the king spoke up again.

 

“We would be delighted, Your Majesty,” Ránewen replied before her husband could say anything, offering a smile that was small—considerate of the current occasion—but conveyed her pleasure with the idea well. “So long as it isn’t an inconvenience, considering the increased party size?”

 

While not every noble in Gondor expected to receive an invitation to the wedding of the king’s youngest child, all that could leave their lands had chosen to come for the Queen-Mother’s funeral. And as they were already here, they undoubtedly expected to be welcome at the princess’s wedding.

 

“Welcome friends, particularly those who were deliberately invited, could certainly not be turned away,” Queen Lindethiél’s small smile was almost teasing now.

 

“Then we look forward to the happy day,” Harry bowed again, waiting for his wife to finish her graceful curtsy before he finished with, “and again, I can’t fully express our sorrow at your loss.”

 

“Thank you, my friend,” Turambar nodded to him again.

 

Their eyes remained locked for just a moment, before Harry turned to lead his wife away and the royals attention was brought to the courtier who’d been fidgeting behind them for several minutes.

 

~ * **_Cara Galadhon, Lothlórien – Yavannië_** ** _?, 554_** * ~

 

“ _I hadn’t thought we were being all that bothersome, ion nîn._ ” Galadriel’s voice was almost entirely neutral, but her son knew his mother didn’t really want him to leave again.

 

It hadn’t been that long since he’d returned from war, after all.

 

Especially in the eyes of the Elves.

 

But Harry **needed** to get away from his hovering—though well-meaning—family, and the nosy Galadhrim in general. So he and Ránewen were now bound for the Shire, with the Míriel twins, of course, along for the ride.

 

He’d feel bad about dragging the twins away from their home so soon after returning again, if they hadn’t already assured him that they were quite happy to be off on another adventure. They were relatively young Elves, after all, and not yet inclined towards the pursuits of intellect that more thoroughly entertained the older Eldar.

 

Harry gently pulled his mother into a hug, offering a small smile up towards her eyes. “ _You haven’t been, Nana. Not really._ ” He chuckled as he pulled back. “ _No more than usual, at least._ ”

 

Galadriel raised an eyebrow at him, but he saw the almost-smile that pulled at the corners of her lips.

 

“ _Oh, don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I mean, Nana. With your gift, you know more of what goes on in this world—especially in these woods—then anyone else. Whether you’ve been actively keeping a close eye on me or not is relatively irrelevant._ ”

 

“ _I suppose that is true,_ ” Galadriel allowed with a sigh. “ _How long shall you be gone this time, ion nîn?_ ”

 

“ _I can’t say I rightly know, Nana._ ” Harry shrugged, then raised an eyebrow at her. “ _And you can’t really fret too much about it. It’s not like I’m going off to war again, after all._ ” He shook his head. “ _Honestly, I’m not sure why Veryan and Voronwë are so keen on going. They’re more likely to find combat along the Golden Wood’s borders than the Shire’s._ ”

 

“ _By Eru, I hope so._ ” Celebrían sighed, then continued before her son could reply. “ _You know, most of the Galadhrim may begin to find your…inability to remain in one place worrisome._ ”

 

Harry sighed, shaking his head. “ _It wasn’t too long ago, in Elven terms, that you told me yourself, Nana, that it isn’t unusual for the ‘young.’_ ”

 

“ _Yes,_ ” Galadriel agreed. “ _And among the Elves you are still young. Your sister’s children are among the few Elves with fewer years than you. The twins haven’t yet reached their fifth century and Arwen just entered her third._ ” She shook her head. “ _This want to wander seems to be something young males are apt to, given my grandchildren as a tool for comparison._ ”

 

Harry nodded even as he focused on tying off one of the last bags they’d be taking with them from Lothlórien, before shrinking it with a wave of his wand and stowing it away with many other miniaturized pieces of luggage in the small travel sack he carried on his belt. “ _Elrohir and Elladan do seem interested in what exists outside of the Elven realms on Middle Earth._ ”

 

“ _Your sister hopes you might be willing to show it to them?_ ”

 

“ _I know._ ”

 

Celebrían had hinted as much almost a dozen times now.

 

“ _She doesn’t want them traveling alone, and Imladris doesn’t really have the guards to spare._ ” He shook his head. “ _I’m surprised she hasn’t asked you and Ada for bodyguards._ ”

 

Galadriel shook her head. “ _She doesn’t want someone guarding them, restraining their curiosity and the like. She wants someone guiding them. Given your own travels in the lands of men and dwarves, you are undoubtedly the best choice for that task._ ”

 

“ _Perhaps I am,_ ” he agreed with a shrug, then shook his head. “ _It would be a good present for their five-hundredth birthday, would it not?_ ”

 

The Lady of Light smiled, “ _It would indeed. Would you like me to—_ ”

 

“ _I will let Celebrían and Elrond know myself, some time soon. And I’d prefer to surprise the twins._ ”

 

“ _And an enjoyable surprise it will be for them, I’m sure,_ ” Celeborn offered as he entered the room, coming up alongside his wife as he favored their son with a small smile. “ _Your horses are ready and the brothers Míriel await you._ ”

 

Harry nodded in response, “Hannon le, Ada.”

 

The Elf-Lord looked around the room, “ _You seem to have everything well enough in hand here. Save the fact that your lady seems to be missing?_ ”

 

Harry glanced towards the closed bedroom door, and after a moment all three could hear the sounds of someone rummaging around inside. “ _She should be ready soon, I believe._ ” Then he winced, “ _I’m honestly not quite sure of what she’s doing, though. And the last time I asked she glared at me,_ ” he dropped down into one of the nearby chairs, gesturing to some of the nearby seats for his parents to do the same. “ _So I am content to wait here._ ”

 

Celeborn chuckled, “ _That is probably wise, ion nîn._ ”

 

Galadriel rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “ _I will see if she needs any help, then._ ”

 

~ * **_Harry’s House, The Shire – Súlìmë ?, 555_** * ~

 

“ _Would it not be easier to simply decline Turambar’s request?_ ”

 

Harry snorted, shaking his head at his amused wife’s soft words. “ _Hardly. He’d probably just come fetch us in person to drag us back to court with him._ ”

 

Ránewen laughed, the musical sound that was intrinsic to her face filling their warm cottage while her twilight-hued eyes sparkled. “ _You jest, melda nîn._ ” She shook her head, “ _As the king of all Gondor, Turambar certainly would not have the time._ ”

 

Harry shook his head again. “ _He’d make it. Or he’d at least wear out all of the messenger birds I’ve given him, sending them back and forth until I agree to come._ ”

 

“ _Ah, so it is for the poor birds that you are tinkering with your medallions again?_ ”

 

“ _If it pleases you to think that, you’re welcome to._ ” Harry replied, frowning as he reworked one of the ruins on his medallion. A moment later, hoping he’d gotten it right, he called his magic up from his core and sent it flowing into the small metal emblem, empowering the ruins of power he’d carefully etched into the surface.

 

It never ceased to amaze him how much time it took to work with ruins. Especially the final part—when he gave the patterns their power. For what had felt like a moment to him, had clearly been nearly an hour because his wife had only started cooking a short while before he’d started working on his emblem, but he knew from the pleasant aroma that hung on the air and the clinking of fine Elven china as she set the table a short ways away.

 

With a small smile, Harry pointed towards the kitchen and snapped his fingers, his magic easily following his command and finishing the table as his wife stepped back to let his spell take over.

 

“ _Finished, then?_ ” Ránewen asked lightly, that subtle note of amusement still there, and obviously unbothered by his inattention during the casting.

 

She wasn’t the least bit surprised that he’d become so wrapped up in his work without a moment’s notice, and then back to her some time later with no mention of the passing time.

 

But then again, she had been married to him for almost fifty years now. Not quite a landmark among the elves, but still a respectable amount of time.

 

And his medallions _were_ very elaborate works. Illusions to both sight, sound and touch. Not to mention the notice-me-not rune that kept the medallions themselves from being seen. The combination of all the ruins, carefully balancing each other on the small surface but poignant with active power, undoubtedly should take much more time to empower than any single ruin or spell could.

 

“ _I hope so,_ ” Harry confessed, slipping his medallion on and sighing as he felt the illusion take form around him. The additions he’d inscribed obviously made the illusion much more complex, so it wasn’t surprise him that it took the illusion several moments to complete itself. But once it did, he could sense the spell was solidly formed and complete. Rising, he turned to his wife with one eyebrow raised, “ _Well? How do I look?_ ”

 

He blinked when first surprise overtook his wife’s lovely face, only to quickly melt into amusement as she broke down laughing.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

It took Ránewen several seconds to collect herself. “ _Melda nîn, I think, perhaps, you should eat your dinner and get a good night’s sleep before you begin working on my medallion._ ”

 

“ _Why?_ ” Harry frowned.

 

“ _If you think adding a beard and making my hair white will make me look suitably older—I assure you, are you going to Gondor alone this time._ ”

 

Harry blinked, frowning as he deftly conjured up a mirror and inspected his reflection. “ _Perhaps it is a bit much?_ ”

 

“ _Most of Gondor assumes that we are, at most, approaching our forth decade. Not our eighth. And you are **not** giving me a beard._ ”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, but his wife continued before he could respond.

 

“ _Now come sit, I’ll have our dinner out in a moment. And you are **not** to summon it to bring it faster. You may summon the twins, though._ ”

 

Then she was moving off to the nearby kitchen again with efficient, graceful steps even as her husband obediently moved towards the table, taking his medallion off and tossing to towards his work table as he went.

 

Maybe basing the depiction of age on his memories of Dumbledore’s smiling face was a bit unwise. But he didn’t think he’d looked that bad!

 

~ * **_Harry’s House, The Shire – Nárië ?, 562_** * ~

 

“Thank yee, milady!”

 

“You’re very welcome, my dears. But do try to be a little more careful, won’t you? Ránewen smiled as she waived to the departing hobbit children. While her husband had essentially won their right to live among the hobbits by protecting them from the servants of Sauron, both of them had also earned their place by their skills with the healing arts. She was quite used to hobbits in need of help coming to her for it, even in Harry’s absence. She rarely went to Gondor’s capital with him if he intended to stay for only a short time and planned to be busy with military or political meetings the whole time.

 

“Yes milady!” the youthful response came back, though the little ones were already running off to get into some other mischief.

 

Ránewen particularly liked playing with the hobbit children. Little ones were so precious to the Elves as a society—understandably so. She’d like nothing more than to try for her own, though she knew they couldn’t. They’d decided on that before their wedding.

 

Or, Ránewen had, really, as Harry would undoubtedly bow to her wishes if she but asked.

 

But she knew what it was like to grow up without parents, just like Harry did at first. And unlike her prince, she hadn’t been truly adopted after her mother and father were killed by Orcs, along with most of their traveling party. She’d been past her first century at the time, but that hadn’t lessened the pain or horror of witnessing and remembering that terrible event.

 

Her people, had of course, ensured that she wanted for nothing that was in their power to give after that. Yet no one could give her parents back to her.

 

The memory of that aching, unfulfillable wish was what kept her for asking her husband for a little one. Because they had no way of knowing how long they’d have with their child, and making the decision to leave them behind with their people or take them to a world where they might at the very least have to watch their father die of old age, or at worse watch both their parents die defending the mortal wizards, was unendurable.

 

Once Harry had fulfilled his destiny, children could be in their future. Certainly if they were able to return to Arda afterwards.

 

If they couldn’t, Ránewen didn’t know if she would ask for children then; not when she knew her husband would have but a century, maybe a little more, and she’d die of grief soon after his death. Leaving their immortal children trapped in a mortal world…

 

Ránewen shook her head as she closed the cottage door behind her, heading towards the kitchen to make tea.

 

This was one of the usual turns her thoughts tended to take in her beloved’s absence, despite her very best efforts to remain focused on pleasanter reflections.

 

As she passed Harry’s work desk, she paused, and shook her head fondly. She always tried to ignore the little amounts of clutter her husband tended to leave in his wake—his thoughts often flying from one idea to another to quickly to remember to clean up all the time. If she left the clutter, he’d clean it up before it ever reached objectionable levels of disarray and disorder. Yet whenever he wasn’t here for hours on end, fiddling with something or other, she always gravitated to this desk and started organizing, cleaning, or both.

 

Once everything was organized again, her eyes strayed to the high shelf where she knew Harry’s wand lay inside the special box he designed to keep it in when he didn’t need to use it. Which he hardly every did; he claimed magic was easier on Arda than he remember it being on Earth, that the world itself was teeming with so much magic that he rarely needed to focus his own inner powers.

 

Maybe that was partially true; after all, the same environmental magic he was referring to was what some Elves called upon to perform the much lesser magicks they were known for. But they couldn’t do anything like Harry could do with it, so most were pretty sure there had to be more to it. Perhaps practice and constant use made performing magic without a wand easier, or maybe Harry just subconsciously came to understand his magic better, and that was what made it easier and easier.

 

Whatever the case, her husband rarely chose to risk taking his wand anywhere if he didn’t think he’d need it. He didn’t have to, since he could just apparate home in a jump or two to get it if he was actually performing something powerful or precise enough to demand it. Since he was playing an aging mortal soldier in Gondor, not the wizard or elf prince he was, that of course hadn’t come even close to happening. And the wand had too much sentimental value to him to risk unnecessarily.

 

It was also a comfort to Ránewen as she opened the box, smiling as she felt the dormant power within—Harry’s magic—hum in welcome. Running her finger along the smooth surface—Harry polished it at least every other week—she couldn’t help but giggle lightly as the inaudible hum grew louder, and the familiar magic wash through her in a warm, still welcoming wave.

 

Some of the books in the library made from _Hermione’s Tome_ claimed wands could owe loyalty to only one witch or wizard. Ránewen could understand how that was true, but her husband’s wand had always welcomed her. Always served as a slight bit of comfort in his absence.

 

‘ _I do hope to see you again, soon, melda nîn,_ ’ Ránewen thought sighing softly, before gasping as she felt a jerk behind her navel, which she recognized a moment later as the activation of a portkey. Her husband hated the things, though he’d gotten better at landing with time, and occasionally deigned to use them. It didn’t help that among the graceful Elves his best efforts tended to look a little clumsy nonetheless. Recognizing she was nearing the destination—though she still didn’t understand how she came to be traveling by portkey—Ránewen braced slightly for landing.

 

“Oof!”

 

Her would-be graceful landing was spoiled by the fact that there was someone standing right where the portkey took her.

 

It took her less than a second to recognizing her husband’s form as she landed on top of him and he both rolled a little with the fall and at the same time managed to catch her while he was at it. Harry may not be quite as graceful as most elves, but he had very fast reflexes.

 

“Ow… _Melda nîn?_ ” he pushed them both up into a sitting with one arm, the other still holding her to him so that she ended up sitting in his lap as he stared at her with wide eyes, which looked a little odd since he was currently in his ‘mortal’ disguise. ‘ _What are you doing here? What happened? Are you alright?_ ’

 

Ránewen shook her head in confusion, before frowning down at the wand that was still clutched in her grasp. “ _I…I touched your wand,_ ” she cocked her head to the side slightly as she met his gaze again ponderingly. “ _Did you make it a portkey?_ ”

 

He blinked at her. “ _My wand, a portkey? I…I wouldn’t think that’d be possible… well, maybe, if I could it wandlessly. But making good portkeys is one of the things I need my wand for, so I’m not sure how I’d manage it._ ” Then he blinked again. “ _Why did you need my wand, anyway?_ ”

 

Ránewen blushed slightly, looking down again. “ _I, um. I missed you._ ”

 

Harry’s warm chuckle reverberated through his body a little, as withdrew his arm from around her waist to reach up and catch her chin and turn her face towards his own again. “ _I’ve missed you, too._ ” He admitted, before placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

 

Ránewen frowned when he withdrew after a mere peck. “ _Not that much, apparently,_ ” she huffed.

 

He laughed, shaking his head. “ _Oh no, I’ve missed you very much. But Sir Hadrian can’t very well be caught with an unknown elf that resembles his wife in his lap, lips locked in a kiss, can he?_ ”

 

Ránewen blinked, only then noticing that they were in the middle of a—thankfully deserted—hallway. “ _Oh…no. That wouldn’t be wise. We should—_ ”

 

“ _Wizard here, melda nîn, remember?_ ” her husband interrupted her, as he wrapped his arm around her waist again to keep her from rising as she’d started to try. Then she was again hit by the familiar sensation of a type of magical transportation, though she was much more familiar with side-along apparition, since that was how her husband usually took her to far off places if they were making quick trips.

 

A moment later they landed on a much softer surface than the castle floor, and Ránewen only needed a glance to confirm that they were in the bed they usually shared when they stayed in Gondor’s capital.

 

She raised an eyebrow at him, “ _Shouldn’t we be discussing how I got here, verno nîn?_ ”

 

“ _I haven’t seen you in almost a month, so I can’t really say I care all that much about how you came to be in my lap, vesse nîn._ ” (my wife)

 

Ránewen laughed, smiling as she leaned over to press another kiss to his lips. This one lasted a lot longer than the previous, but this time she was the one that drew back with a grin as her husband groaned. “ _Work before play, melda nîn._ ”

 

“ _I’ve been working,_ ” he complained, but didn’t try to stop her as she slipped off his lap. Instead, he raised an eyebrow as she turned to face him and held his wand out to him.

 

“ _So, why did it bring me here?_ ”

 

He accepted the much-loved item with a sigh, scrutinizing it carefully, before he shook his head. “ _There’s nothing wrong with it, melda nîn. And it’s not a portkey._ ”

 

“ _But it brought me here, and it felt just like a portkey…_ ”

 

“Hmm,” Harry nodded, still staring at his wand for several moments, before realization visibly dawned on his face. “ _When you were holding it, did you say anything?_ ”

 

Ránewen frowned, shaking her head. “ _No, I was just…_ ” she blinked. “ _I was just thinking about how much I wanted to see you. It read my mind?_ ”

 

 “ _No, wands don’t really do that. They don’t read ‘thoughts,’ but desire and intent._ ” Harry shook his head slowly. “ _But from what I’ve read, that only works for magical folk…_ ”

 

Ránewen blinked when he suddenly flipped the wand around and held one end out to her, “ _What—_ ”

 

“ _Take it._ ”

 

She shook her head, “ _Why, I’m not a witch. It must just be because it’s yours—_ ”

 

“ _Probably, in part. But elves are magical, too. We’ve both been taught Elven magic. We’ve just never thought about seeing how much of my magic you could use._ ” He raised the wand a little again, “ _Let’s see._ ”

 

Hesitantly, she obeyed slowly, glancing around one she held the wand with the lightest grip possible. “ _What do you want me to do._ ”

 

Harry shrugged, “ _Start with something easy, I guess._ ” He waived his hand and a feather appeared next to him. “ _Levitate that, you know the spell._ ”

 

She did.

 

While Harry didn’t need to audibly cast, he tended to do it to avoid startling people to badly most of the time. And the first charm he’d learned had featured in several scenes from his first year of school that she’d watched with equal parts amusement and horror.

 

Forcing herself to not bite her lip in nervousness, Ránewen mimicked the wand motion she’d seen him learn from Hogwarts’ tiniest teacher and enunciated, “Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa!”

 

The feather floated up into the air obediently, and immediately plummeted when she dropped the wand in surprise.

 

“Bravo!” Harry applauded her, smiling as her stunned gaze returned to him while he reached down to pick up his wand again, turning to set in on the bedside table as he continued. “ _Looks like we’ll be studying more magic for a while._ ”

 

Ránewen nodded mutely, still a little stunned.

 

“ _Now, you caught—well, I guess I caught you—as I was returning from bidding my host farewell after sending the twins off with the horses. I won’t be collecting them till sometime tomorrow, as they wanted to ride a bit. So, let’s go home._ ”

 

That made her smile as she slid her hand into his, and let him apparate them away again. This was a magical aspect of her marriage that she was well used to, after all. Though, even though she was still a bit amazed that she could perform the magic of Harry’s people, she was a little excited, too.

 

~ * **_Cara Galadhon, Lothlórien – Cermië 31, 583_** * ~

 

Harry was beyond thankful for his family and friends here on Middle Earth, and it were times like this that highlighted why.

 

He had come a long way from the little boy who drew images of birthday cakes in dirt for his birthday. He’d also surpassed the boy-who-lived, who’d eagerly anticipated the flock of owls that assailed his home the night before his birthday each year after he started at Hogwarts.

 

Now a whole city celebrated the day of his birth, which was strangely enough even called the same thing by the people of Gondor. Among the Eldar his birthday was the thirty-first of Cermië, but the people of Gondor called the same month July and all the other months of the year bore the same, English names he’d initially grown up with. How exactly that happened he had _no_ idea. Though it was a logic-puzzle his father and brother-in-law, along with many of the other more scholarly-types among the Elves-in-the-know, enjoyed.

 

“Aur onnad meren a le!” some of the Galadhrim were properly singing.

 

“Aur onnad meren a le!” others were shouting, joyously.

 

“Aur onnad meren a Elerossë!”

 

With hundreds of people surrounding him, the cacophony of noise should have been horrific. But the musicality of the Elves and the sheer joy infused in the very air all around them kept it the wonderful occasion it ought to be.

 

“Aur onnad meren a le!” [4]

 

So Harry was smiling widely as he welcomed the kiss his wife brought to him at the end of the song.

 

Among the Elves it was more then a little impractical to celebrate _every_ year, of course. But Elerossë was the Galadhrim’s prince and the beginning of his fifth century was something that should, of course, be commemorated.

 

Though it did, still, rather amaze him that the song sung was the Elvish adaptation of ‘happy birthday’ from his own world. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it. It was more that it surprised him that the Elves _didn’t_ have a happy birthday song of their own before he came. Given they had songs for just about everything else, and even celebrated with cakes and presents just like the mortals both of Earth and Middle Earth did, just made it seem a bit peculiar to him.

 

Not that he’d ever tell any of them that...

 

~ * ** _Cara Galadhon, Lothlórien –_** ** _Lótessë 3_** ** _1, 608_** * ~

 

“ _We don’t have to, you know,_ ” Harry murmured into his wife’s hair, before pressing a soft kiss into it as she sank a little further back into his embrace.

 

“ _One of us says that every year, melda nîn._ ” Her respected reply came. “ _And every year, the other must make them see reason._ ”

 

“ _We both want children._ ”

 

“ _And if it were about what we wanted, we wouldn’t have started taking this potion on the eve of our tenth anniversary; ninety years ago._ ” Ránewen sighed sadly as she turned in his arms to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “ _But this isn’t about us. It’s about the children we want to give only the best to._ ”

 

“ _And having grown up without parents ourselves—_ ”

 

“ _You much more so than I, melda nîn._ ”

 

Harry nodded, “ _Neither one of us are willing to bring them into a world we might abandon them in—be it on Arda or Earth._ ”

 

Ránewen nodded slightly. “ _The next argument is that we could give them the choice to come with us._ ”

 

“ _To a world they might find themselves alone amongst mortals after a century or two. Unless they find mortal matches._ ”

 

“ _And die of grief as I shall, should you die._ ”

 

Harry winced. “ _Yes._ ”

 

“ _Or they might choose to remain here, amongst our people, to travel to Valinor when the time for the Elves departure comes._ ”

 

“ _Possibly giving up the chance to ever see either of us again._ ”

 

“ _Just as you, embracing immortality, may have given up the chance to see your birth parents after mortal death._ ”

 

“ _Yes._ ” Harry sighed, now resting his head slightly atop hers. “ _And that is assuming I’m not called back sometime soon. If you try to follow me while carry our child, both of you could die._ ”

 

“ _And we cannot ask our children to choose how they may die before they reach adulthood themselves._ ” Ránewen sighed, and Harry felt her eyelashes brush across his child as she closed her eyes. “ _Even then, it would feel wrong._ ”

 

“ _Yes._ ”

 

A few moments later, the elleth sighed. “ _Is it ready?_ ”

 

Harry didn’t need to glance at the potion pot to know the answer; it’d lost all of its color a short while before, and he’d added the last ingredient then, completing it. “ _Yes._ ”

 

Ránewen nodded carefully, before drawing back enough to lock gazes with his. “ _Then let’s get this over with._ ”

 

~ * **_Harry’s House, the Shire  – Narvinyë ?, 650_** * ~

 

“ _No._ ”

 

“ _Elerossë, she really wants to learn—_ ”

 

“ _I am not teaching my nephews magic._ ”

 

Ránewen blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “ _I never said anything about the Gwenyn._ ”

 

“ _No,_ ” Harry agreed with a nod, even as he very deliberately kept his eyes locked on the rune pattern he was sketching. “ _You just want to teach their little sister magic, will make the pair of them demand teaching, citing fairness._ ”

 

His wife chuckled. “ _I’m not saying we teach them anything that’ll help with their pranks—_ ”

 

“ _Good, then we’ve nothing more to discuss._ ”

 

“ _Elerossë!_ ” she laughed, even as she shook her head. “ _There’s much more they could learn from you, and use magic for, that does not include pranking._ ”

 

Harry finally turned his eyes from his work to raise an eyebrow at her. “ _You do remember the memories I showed you of the Weasley family, yes?_ ”

 

“ _Of course._ ”

 

“ _And do you really think either Mr. or Mrs. Weasley ever deliberately ever taught their twins magic for pranking?_ ”

 

“ _Well, Mr. Weasley might have—_ ”

 

“ _And risked his wife’s wrath, I really doubt it._ ”

 

“ _He encouraged them on the car—_ ”

 

“ _Until she hit him and he notices she was scowling at him._ ”

 

“ _There isn’t a book for prank spells in the ‘library’ from Hermione’s Tome._”

 

“ _No, I’m sure Hermione made a point of not including those, if they were part of the Hogwarts’ collection._ ” Harry shook his head. “ _But magic can be used for a great deal, melda nîn. And a clever mind can turn it to pranks very, very easily._ ”

 

“ _…The Gwenyn have never hurt anyone._ ”

 

Harry sighed, “ _And I’m not worried they would. I adore and trust all of my sister’s children.. I am, however, worried about how my sister, brother-in-law and all of their advisors—Glorfindel and Erestor especially—would react to them learning magic._ ”

 

Ránewen shook her head. “ _You’ve allowed all the Galadhrim—and all others who know our secrets, though they are few—to study the books from your world. You taught Master Gelmir how to craft wands, and several other elves already have them._ ”

 

“ _And if asked, he won’t make wands for any of the elflings without their parents and grandparents explicit permission. And neither will I._ ” Harry sighed. “ _I know better than to try and order you not to, but please talk to Celebrían about it before you try anything with Arwen. She might like to learn with her daughter, also. As may Elrond._ ”

 

After a moment his wife nodded her agreement. “Be iest lîn.”

 

~ * **_Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien, Urimë 11, 667 TA_** * ~

 

“Elerossë?” Ránewen’s quiet inquiry broke the heavy silence that hung around the terrace. As dawn was still hours away it was still dark, and most of the Galadhrim were asleep, as were most of the Golden Wood’s fauna. “Are you all right?”

 

Harry didn’t answer fro several moments, staring off into the distance as his wife came up and wrapped her arms around him from behind. After a moment he sighed and turned around to return her embrace. “ _...I always knew he’d die some day, Ránewen. I just..._ ” he shook his head with another sigh. “ _I guess I didn’t expect it to be so soon._ ”

 

Ránewen shook her head, sending her long dark hair swishing back and forth even as the breeze caught a few strand that weren’t restrained by the slender braids she’d woven around her crown to control the long locks. “ _We never do,_ _melda nîn._ _Their lives are so very short... and Turambar was well into his when you met him._ ”

 

“ _I know,_ ” Harry shook his head again, “ _Elrond warned me, you know._ ”

 

The gentle, sad smile on Ránewen’s face was just a bit reproachful as she replied, “ _I believe many of us did, melda nîn. I know I did._ ”

 

“ _Yes, but he was much more... persistent, I suppose._ ” Harry shook his head slowly from side to side as his focus remained introspective for several long moments. Then he sighed again and offered a small, sad smile. “ _Well, I guess I’m learning what I wanted to... I’m not happy about it, of course, but... there it is._ ”

 

Ránewen sighed, “ _Poor melda nîn,_ ” she murmured, her embrace tightening for a moment as she laid her head down on his shoulder. “ _Would that you did not have such a destiny before you. I hate to see you in pain._ ”

 

“ _It is a part of who I am._ ”

 

“ _And almost certainly the only reason we ever met, I know,_ ” Ránewen shook her head. “ _That doesn’t help._ ”

 

Harry chuckled softly, breathing in the faint, soothing scent of lavender and violets that he knew came from the shampoo and conditioner Ránewen had used on her hair for centuries. “ _No, it doesn’t._ ”

 

“ _You should go to him now, melda nîn._ ” Ránewen murmured, her voice even softer than before, barely a whisper. “ _You’ll regret it...forever, if you don’t._ ”

 

“ _I know..._ ” Harry nodded, his voice just as soft. “ _I know..._ ” he repeated with another heavy sigh. After a few moments he withdrew slightly to meet her violet eyes again. “ _Will you come with me?_ ” he asked, before quickly shaking his head and saying, “ _You don’t have to, of course. In fact, you prob—_ ” he was cut off by his wife’s warm, soft lips covering his own.

 

After several moments with their lips locked together in almost desperate passion, Ránewen drew back to quietly say, “ _I’m coming._ ”

 

“ _Hannon le..._ ” Harry replied just as quietly, before leaning down to kiss her once more.

 

~ * **_Valinor, ‘Arda’,_** ** _Yavannië 3,_** ** _667 TA_** * ~

 

Vairë, the Vala commonly known as ‘The Weaver,’ past through her husband’s halls on ethereally silent feet, nodding to the spirits that bow nodding to the spirits that bowed to acknowledge her, but not choosing to actually stop for any discussions. She had a specific reason for being here now. Set on her course, it took her little time to find the lord of the Halls of Mandos, for which Námo had become more commonly known.

 

“ _My Lady,_ ” the dark figure acknowledged her before she said anything, though he did not turn away from the shimmering pool he was gazing to. One of the many ways he could view Middle Earth without actually going there.

 

“ _My Lord,_ ” Vairë nodded as she came up alongside him and also looked down into that pool, though she already knew what she would see. She had woven this fate at his behest, after all. Though that particular weaving would not join the many others that had preceded it—which were draped all around the walls of this massive hall—until the events it defined had come to pass.

 

After several long moments of silence, the ‘Judge of the Dead’ spoke again. “ _Have Manwë’s eyes turned to the mortal lands once more?_ ”

 

Vairë’s infinite gaze turned towards him, then back to the pool he was still watching so devotedly. “ _Surely you do not believe he would send me to fetch you, if he had._ ”

 

“ _No,_ ” Mandos actually sighed. “ _No, I do not suppose he would._ ”

 

“ _He shall, of course, remember the world outside of Aman eventually._ ” Vaire shook her head. “ _Some of the others have noticed the abrupt decline in pilgrims from the mortal lands. But it is the general opinion that most of the Elves still there will remain until the last possible moment._ ”

 

“ _Or beyond it, yes._ ” Mandos nodded. “ _We shall see fewer still, until then. Though the years are short to us. Certainly none of those whom the recent events have touched._ ”

 

“ _No. Young Elerossë’s world and all it adds to Middle Earth certainly does fascinate them. Even devices like their Penseives would be considered invaluable treasures to all here. As they are now, across The Seas._ ”

 

“ _The addition of the leaders from the Elves still trapped on Earth was an interesting touch._ ”

 

“ _That you did not request, I know. But though they are not our Elves, I believed they deserved the chance to leave the mortal world, nonetheless._ ”

 

“ _They did have a chance in their world itself._ ”

 

“ _A very brief one, yes. But considering their long-lives, like ours, a span of a few years is hardly adequate time for making such a life-altering decision._ ”

 

“ _Yet you would offer them the same decision, now?_ ”

 

“ _They’ve had several millennia to lament not leaving, or not. If they truly wish to come to Aman, as many seem to, they will._ ”

 

Mandos cocked his head to the side slightly, finally turning his dark gaze down towards her. “ _You have not woven their fate?_ ”

 

“ _Stolen their choice?_ ” Vairë shook her head. “ _No. Of course not. You know I never would, Námo._ ” She sighed, “ _I always leave choices._ ”

 

Mandos’s gaze returned to the pool even as he nodded. “ _Yes. Yes, you do._ ”

 

Several more long moments of silence passed between and around them as they gazed into the pool. Then the weaver of Arda’s Fate spoke again.

 

“ _Our kin’s abandonment of Middle Earth troubles you so much, my love. You are Manwë’s chief advisor, and yet you say nothing. Why n—_ ”

 

“ _You have asked this question before, dear heart._ ”

 

Vairë sighed, “ _Your answer has yet to satisfy me._ ”

 

“ _You have my sincerest apologies._ ”

 

“ _Had we paid attention to Middle Earth sooner, Aulë’s treacherous assistant might never have risen to power as a Dark Lord there. Númenor might have been spared its cruel fate, had we shielded the young ones from Melkor’s treachery._ ”

 

Now Mandos actually chuckled, shaking his head slightly, still gazing into the pool. “ _And what of free will?_ ”

 

“ _They should still have it, of course,_ ” Vairë shook her head, frowning deeply. “ _But had they any real contact with us, any kind of acknowledgement beyond the taboo of never setting foot on these shores, they might never have chosen to sail against us._ ”

 

“ _That is possible,_ ” Mandos agreed, nodding again. “ _As you certainly know._ ”

 

“ _Yet still you will not speak to Manwë?_ ”

 

“ _I have spoken to him. Many times. As has the fair Varda._ ”

 

Vairë started in surprise, “ _Varda still cares for Middle Earth?_ ” She shook her head. “ _She’s never said..._ ”

 

“ _Varda rarely speaks her mind in public, as you well know. But she sees all that passes beneath her stars and all Elves—even those that have yet to make the Westward journey—are her prized children._ ”

 

“ _Ah,_ ” Vairë nodded in understanding. “ _That makes sense, then... Though she has not seemed to be in ill spirits as of late._ ”

 

“ _She undoubtedly feels she has no need to be. That the Elves of Middle Earth will make their final voyage soon enough, and there is currently no great trouble in the mortal lands. Not since Sauron’s ring was cut from his hand._ ”

 

Vairë nodded, then chuckled slightly. “ _I do find it interesting that the Dark Lord that troubles Elerossë’s childhood home sought to create so similar a device, though he made many more of them._ ”

 

“ _The so-called Lord Voldemort’s Horcruxes are not The Ring of Power._ ”

 

“ _No,_ ” Vairë agreed easily, shrugging. “ _But they are a fair adaptation, considering the mage that made them is mortal and had far less time to accomplish the same feat that Sauron sought to._ ”

 

Mandos sighed, “ _Perhaps._ ”

 

“ _I should think you’d find it rather flattering, old friend,_ ” a familiar voice declared as its owner entered the room. Vairë and Mandos both turned to greet the Master of Visions and Dreams with nods.

 

“ _Irmo, welcome,_ ” Vairë offered a warm smile for her husband’s fellow Fëanturi, or spirit-master.

 

“ _Good day; Vairë, Námo,_ ” the Vala that was also often referred to by his primary dwelling place—the wondrous gardens of Lórien, for which the Golden Wood of Lothlórien was aspiring called--nodded in return. But his silvery-white eyes never met theirs, for now—as was his norm—his gaze was turned towards his realm.

 

“ _What brings you to my halls, old friend?_ ” Mandos asked, tilting his dark head to the side in curiosity.

 

“ _Visions of interest,_ ” Lórien replied, moving closer to the pool to look into it himself. “ _This one is a master of his own fate, to be sure. Yet you did not feel he had enough to choose from in his own world?_ ”

 

Mandos sighed, “ _He was orphaned when he was little more than an infant. And he survived a curse that, until then, served as an equivalent for my touch in that violent world._ ”

 

“ _He was hailed a hero, for Tom Riddle’s first great defeat, but then abandoned by his supposed people, and condemned to a childhood surrounded by hate and fear._ ” Vairë added, no small amount of anger leaking into her voice.

 

But the other Valar understood. The Elves were oh-so protective of their precious young, partially because children came so rarely to their kind. In contrast, the Valar could have no children of their own.  Instead, they watched over the lesser races forged by the will of Ilúvatar, treating them as though they were their own as much as possible. Though in recent millennia, most of the Valar had focused any paternal feelings they had on the First Born, who could remain with them outside of the mortal world. Still, the idea of neglecting and harming a child—be it with fists or with words and looks—horrified them.

 

“ _So you sought to give him a better childhood,_ ” Lórien nodded, a smiling stealing a corner of his mouth. “ _And the chance to meet his soul mate, as well?_ ”

 

“ _With all that is expected from him in his life, is it not fair that he be allowed that mercy?_ ”

 

Lórien nodded in response to the Weaver’s query. “ _Certainly. Though the only thing I have ever questioned in Ilúvatar’s will is why the meetings of soul mates are not guaranteed._ ”

 

“ _Why some are born in entirely different worlds, never to meet till possibly after their death. And others are born in the same world, but too far apart—by time or just space—to ever meet,_ ” Mandos shook his head in agreement. “ _The question has troubled all of us, I’m sure._ ”

 

“ _Though the mortals adapt better than most,_ ” Lórien commented after a moment of quiet. “ _Their gift of choice gives them the ability to adapt and the gift of death, by limiting their life-span, forces them to._ ” The Dreamer shook his head. “ _Had you left him untouched, he would have eventually found happiness of a sort._ ”

 

“ _I should hope so,_ ” Vairë nodded, then sighed. “ _But that is no reason to avoid giving him a better option._ ”

 

“ _I suppose not,_ ” Lórien allowed with another nod. He watched the pool for several more seconds before adding, “ _His choice to reacquaint himself with mortality was an interesting one._ ”

 

“ _And a necessary one,_ ” Mandos added. “ _Much as it hurts him now._ ”

 

“ _Better he learn the lesson here than return to Earth and face the deaths of all his childhood friends, in the war or just to time’s relentless passage._ ”

 

“ _You could undo that fate entirely,_ ” Lórien suggested.

 

“ _And risk war with those that govern his world? No,_ ” Mandos shook his head. “ _Young Elerossë’s fate is tied to his native world far too tightly for me to risk challenging it without Manwë’s approval. And Manwë has no interest in the mortals of our world, so I doubt he’ll care for those outside our dimension at all._ ”

 

“ _Neither can live while the other survives,_ ” Vairë murmured, her eyes sad.

 

“ _But shall he return after his task is done?_ ” Lórien asked, looking between the shadowed pair.

 

 “ _That choice will be his, and his alone._ ” Vairë shook her head, “ _For now, he must contend with a dear friend’s unavoidable, natural death._ ”

 

~ * **_Minas Anor, Gondor, Yavannië 3, 667 TA_** * ~

 

Harry watched his old friend sadly as he sat down next to him on a bench overlooking the fortified white city, with the Pelennor Fields and Osgiliath in the distance.

 

Though Turambar, as one of the Dúnedain, was much longer-lived than most men, his time was certainly coming. His once midnight-black hair had first gone gray with age and was now as white as snow. His skin still bore some of the golden glow of good health he’d always had in his youth, but it was paler now and marred by wrinkles. Not so many wrinkles as most old men had, thanks again to his elven ancestor, but he had some around his eyes, mouth and forehead nonetheless.

 

Over the last decade arthritis had set into his joints, stealing most of his grace and speed. A little over a year ago his vision had started to fail. It had been fading for some years beforehand, but now he could not even read without the aid of the glass ‘Hadrian’ had given him or a servant or kinsman to do it for him.

 

Harry had helped all he could. He’d pleaded with both Galadriel and Elrond for elven remedies and draughts to slow the old king’s decline and lessen his pain. He’d snuck what magic he could in as well, even going so far as to make a seeing-eyeglass for him to read with should he wish to. Harry had needed quite a bit of magic for that. Some to make sure the single mithril framed glass-lens would fit comfortably, be the right prescription for him, never break, or scratch, or fog... It hadn’t been easy to explain. He’d managed to get out of doing so by saying that it was an invention by one of the people of the Golden Wood, a Galadhrim named Harry, who Turambar then of course assumed was an elf.

 

But even with all the help he continued to give, Turambar’s end was still coming. They could all see it, no matter how much they didn’t want to. And now he really knew why Elrond was so reluctant to associate with his brother’s descendants. If Turambar and his children and grandchildren were a reasonable standard to judge their line by, then the descendants of the Line of Kings were truly the very best of their race. To watch these children grow into adults of such great character... and then watch them fade, to watch their aging bodies fail them... It hurt. Truly and deeply.

 

Harry was glad, though, that Turambar’s mind remained whole and healthy. At least he knew when they spoke that his friend was still there, even if he couldn’t meet his eyes without the glass in one.

 

“Would that I had your grace, my friend,” Turambar murmured with a small smile, his eyes turned out towards the horizon, where the sun was slowly setting. His voice was not quite as deep and strong as it once was, worn by centuries of use and the many illnesses that had plagued his old form over the last few years.

 

“Hmm?” Harry replied, frowning slightly. It had always troubled him that he hadn’t been able to share more of himself–and his true history–with this very good friend. And Turambar hadn’t made it easy, though he’d never made any demands. Just observed, and listened, and occasionally asked very insightful questions.

 

“You’ve aged far more gracefully than I, as I imagine my older forefathers must have done before our eleven heritage became so diluted,” Turambar shook his head with a sigh, which abruptly turned into a harsh, hacking cough. He accepted the goblet of water ‘Hadrian’ handed him with a small nod of thanks before drinking deeply and calming his throat. “...Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome, my friend,” Harry returned softly, choosing not to comment on Turambar’s reference to ‘Hadrian’s’ supposed heritage. It was the best theory available to the wise old king, and the closest he could get to the truth. And it was true, in a way. “Have you been taking the potions and draughts I gave you?”

 

“Of course,” Turambar replied with a small smile. “Lothenélla never lets me forget. She took over when my Lindethiél died... They do help with the pain, especially on long days. Thank you again.”

 

“You need not thank me. It’s what friends do for friends, after all.”

 

Turambar smiled, shaking his head. “And yet you’re the only friend I know that would do such a thing without expecting anything in return. Even my kin expect rewards or at least recognition from time to time. Yet you never do. Never have.”

 

“I am content as I am.”

 

“I do wish you’d at least accept a real title and an actual position on my council. I’d like to have you there to help Atanatar when he takes the throne.”

 

“I will help Atanatar, as I can, of course.”

 

“But not in any official capacity? It would be very easy to make an old knight into a high councilor.”

 

“As a friend I will be happy to help and he need only write to me by falcon whenever he needs or wants to. If it was good enough for you, my friend, it should be for your son, as well,” Harry pointed out, with one eyebrow raised.

 

“Perhaps,” Turambar sighed. “But you were at my side through most of the war, when I first became king. It’s different.”

 

“Yes, Atanatar doesn’t have a war to worry about. And he is eight decades older than you were when you took the throne.”

 

“True, true... But you will help him, as much as you’re able?” Turambar asked, his unaided eyes somehow focused directly on Harry’s eyes, as though he was seeing that which he could not see by sheer willpower. “And watch over the others for as long as you’re able?”

 

Harry nodded slowly. “I will watch over your children, and your grandchildren, my friend, as though they were my own.”

 

Turambar’s answering smile was somehow both grateful and sad all at once. “Thank you, my friend.” Then he shook his head. “It is a great pity you and Raina were never able have little ones. Both of you are so good with mine, I know you would be wonderful with your own.”

 

“We would have liked that,” Harry sighed, not offering any other words on the subject as he always avoided actually lying to his old friend as much as possible.

 

“Yet you feel secure in your futures, even with no son or daughter to care for you?”

 

Harry nodded, bemused at another question the old king had asked many times before. Yet another attempt at talking him into accepting a title. But he always said no. He didn’t need any more titles, after all. Over the years though, the persistent struggle had become something of a game between them. “Quite, thank you,” he replied, before turning slightly at the sound of approaching footsteps. He bowed his head with a  smile when he saw his friend’s great-granddaughter drawing near.

 

“Grandfather?” the young princess called hesitantly, one hand on her brow to try and tame the long dark locks that were being caught by the wind while her warm silver eyes focused on Turambar.

 

Turambar also turned, any surprise he felt at her appearance well-hidden as a delighted smile lit up his features. “Lothenélla, good evening. Come to watch the sunset?”

 

“No, grandfather,” the teenager shook her head, a small frown crossing her comely features as she held up a bag she’d been carrying on her shoulder moments before. “I brought you your medicine. You know you’re supposed to take some of it at sundown.”

 

Turambar nodded, though he shot a glance in Harry’s direction with an eyebrow raised, his expression clearly seeing, ‘you see what I mean?’ even as he moved over a little more on the bench he’d claim to give her room. “Come sit with us, my dear. And yes, yes, I’ll take my medicine. But there isn’t any reason you can’t enjoy the sunset with us.”

 

“I-I don’t want to intru—”

 

“Please join us, Princess Lothenélla,” Harry interrupted, also gesturing to the seat his friend had insisted on. “I haven’t seen you in years,” he murmured with a wide smile, shaking his head. “And my, how you’ve grown! You must have suitors by the dozen now.”

 

“Th-Thank you, my lord,” the eighteen-year-old replied, her face reddening in evident embarrassment as she finally took the seat beside her grandfather. She looked Harry over for several moments before shaking her head, her expression puzzled. “I’m u-usually very good with faces, my lord, but I’m afraid I don’t recall yours.”

 

Harry laughed lightly, smiling as he replied. “You’d only just turned six the last time I spoke with you. Though I’ve visited a few times since then, I’m afraid I never had the pleasure of your acquaintance more recently.” Then he shrugged, “And besides that I am only a retired Captain and knight who went to war with your father’s grandfather, long before you were born. I certainly wouldn’t expect you to recognize me.”

 

The princess’s gaze became curious, “You fought against the East, sir?”

 

Now, Turambar laughed shortly before Harry could answer. “Fought! Sir Hadrian practically won the war for us, if all the stories you hear these days are true. And several aren’t too far off.”

 

Harry frowned at him, “Your leadership was far more important to the war effort than any of the contributions I may, Your Majesty.”

 

“So you’ve said,” Turambar nods, his old eyes gazing off into the distance. “So you’ve said.” Then he shook his head. “But sometimes I wonder. So many things blend together, you know. What stands out the most are your acts of valor and the like.”

 

“ _You’re_ Sir Hadrian?” Princess Lothenélla asked, her pretty eyes wide as she stared at him.

 

“Yes,” Harry bowed his head slightly in acquiescence, before chuckling. “Though I suppose my bowed, aged form isn’t what these ‘stories’ your grandfather speaks of would have you expect?” he shakes his head, continuing before she can respond. “I doubt any of those stories are really worth the time it takes for them to be told.”

 

“Now, now, my dear Lindethiél kept the gossip-mongers from getting to carried away, way back when.” Turambar objected, though he was smiling. “And Atanatar’s Alanara seems to be quite good at it, too.”

 

“I’m sure she is, though your queen left impressive shoes to fill,” Harry bowed his head again. “Still, they couldn’t hear every rendition of the tales spun after the war. And time can only have made those tales longer and less precise.”

 

Turambar shrugged, “Perhaps,” he allowed. “I can’t really object much. Can’t say I’ve heard many stories as of late.” Then he raised his eyebrow at his great-granddaughter. “Perhaps you could tell us of what we’ve been missing, Lothenélla?”

 

The girl blinked, but then nodded, smiling. “I’d be delighted, grandfather. _After_ you’ve taken your medicine,” she indicated the bag she’d brought with her again.

 

Turambar sighed, but he was smiling. “If I must...”

 

~ * **_Caras Galadhon, Lothlorien, Narquelië 31, 667 TA_** * ~

 

“ _To Minas Anor,_ mellon nin,” Harry ordered, before he threw the falcon up in the air, and then watched it fly towards Gondor’s capital.

 

“ _Our condolences, melda nin?_ ” Ranewen murmured as she wrapped one of his arms around her waist.

 

Harry nodded, but didn’t otherwise respond, still watching the carrier falcon fly away.

 

“ _He lived a great life. How much he is missed, and will be missed, is a reflection of that undeniable fact._ ”

 

Again, he didn’t respond, though the bird was by now out of his sight.

 

“ _We can go to the funderal?_ ”

 

After another second’s silence, Harry shook his head. “ _No,_ ” he sighed. “ _We’re supposedly ‘old’ enough now that making such a trip in so short a time shouldn’t be possible. If we did, we’d have to stay in Gondor longer, and King Atanatar would spend every available opportunity picking up where his father left off._ ”

 

“ _Trying to convince you to join his council, you mean?_ ”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“ _And you don’t think you’d be able to say no._ ”

 

“ _I have to._ ” Harry sighed. “ _Even while Turambar’s body is lying in state._ ”

 

Ranewen was quiet for several moments, before she sighed. “ _I am sorry, melda nin._ ”

 

“ _As am I._ ” Harry nodded, then shook his head. “ _But I’m not sorry for what I learned._ ”

 

“ _Oh?_ ”

 

“ _I’ll work harder at remembering. Men aren’t elves—they’re different in so many ways. But there’s good in them to. They’re worth fighting for._ ”

 

“ _Just as the mortals in your world are._ ”

 

“ _Yes._ ”

 

They stood there for several minutes, gazing into the distance where whisps of clouds were slowly starting to merge into possible more ominous formations.

 

Eventually, Ranewen placed a kiss on his cheek, “ _I’ll get supper started._ ”

 

Harry nodded, still gazing off into the distance at the clouds as she moved back into the tellain. The clouds reminded him of Turambar’s eyes the last several years; his friend’s silver gaze had gotten cloudier and clouder as his body weakened and his strength waned. It was a little hard to believe that the fit young man he’d gone off to war with years before was the same one that’d sat with him watching the sunset not long before. Hard to believe, save for the bright mind that’d still been there.

 

Been there then.

 

Not anymore.

 

Because the old King of Gondor had died in his sleep three days before.

 

Turambar was dead.

 

Harry closed his eyes, bowing his head as he murmured, “Hiro hon hîdh ab ’wanath.” After at least a minute of silence, he finally opened his eyes again, looking in the direction he knew Minas Anor lay. “Goodbye, my friend.” [5]

 

Then he turned and walked inside the telain.

 

 

 

**_End of_ **

**_Turambar – A Mortal, A King & A Friend – Part III._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note’s from within chapter:  
> [1] Honestly, I couldn’t find much on the Kingdom of Rhovanion, so a lot of what’s in here is made up. I kind of blended Rohan with Gondor and figured a few Eastern traditions might have blended in a little too. I named the King “Vindovia” because his descendents would be the canon characters: King Vidugavia, Princess/Queen Vindumavi and Prince Vinitharya (or Eldacar).  
> [2] If you refer back to Chapter 2—or you can just take my word for it—Hollin is where ‘the sons of Hames’; ‘Hadrian, Hama, and Herall’ are supposedly from. A distant northern region of Gondor, near Rivendell, which therefore easily serves as a good origin for Harry and the Míriel’ brothers aliases. Captain Torres refers to Harry as ‘Hollin’ because he’s not a friend: so he wouldn’t refer to him by his given name and he didn’t want to show him the respect of referring to him by his military rank, a Captain, primarily because Torres is noble-born and doesn’t like that he shares ranks with a supposedly common-born man who’s obviously higher in the king’s favor (and justifiably so).  
> [3] Firmaidrim – The Elves name for Voldemort. I created it using the prefixes and suffixes for Elven names as listed on angelfire.com/rpg2/vortexshadow/names.html. How accurate is it and the information there? I honestly have no idea... But since the Elves seem to give a name or two to everyone and everything in their world, I figured they’d have their own names for the wizards and witches of Earth, which we’ll see more of (much) later probably.  
> [4] *Elvish taken from (http://www.arwen-undomiel.com/elvish/phrases.html).  
> Aur onnad meren a le!  
> Aur onnad meren a le!   
> Aur onnad meren a Elerossë!  
> Aur onnad meren a le! (3)  
> Happy birthday to you!  
> Happy birthday to you!  
> Happy birthday dear Elerossë!  
> Happy birthday to you!  
> [5] “Hiro hon hîdh ab ’wanath.” – This is the same prayer Legolas said when he thought Merry and Pippin were dead in Two Towers, only altered slightly so that it refers to only one person, “he” not “they.” Translated, it means; “Let him find peace after death.” (URL: elvish.org/gwaith/movie_ttt.htm)  
> [6] Rhovanion Capital – Honestly, I’ve come to understand that “Rhovanion” probably referred to the area of Gondor that was Rohan before it gained its independence. But in my fan fic they’re two separate countries, and Rhovanion is already independent. Sorry if that bothers anyone.
> 
> Translations:  
> Narvinyë = January  
> Nénimë = February  
> Víressë = April  
> Náríë = June  
> Nana = Mom/Mommy/Mama/etc.  
> Naneth = Mother  
> ion nîn = my son  
> Adar = Father  
> Ada = Dad/Daddy/etc.  
> Cermië = July  
> Yavannië = September  
> Hísimë = November  
> Lótessë = May  
> melda nîn = my love  
> verno nîn = my husband  
> vesse nîn = my wife  
> Hannon le = thank you  
> Urimë = August  
> Narquelië = October
> 
> Author’s Note: *sigh* Well, there you have it. Turambar’s part in Harry’s life is over… geesh that took forever. I’m not sure if subconsciously I just didn’t want to kill him or what, but you wouldn’t believe how many times I sat staring at the cursor blinking at me on the computer screen, trying to write, and coming up with absolutely nothing. I had ideas, of course. I always have ideas. I just couldn’t write them! *Shudders* I hate that feeling!

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Ada - Dad (less formal than “Adar”)  
> Adar - Father  
> Adartôr - Uncle (lit. “father’s brother”)  
> Ai - “Oh”  
> Daer Adar - Grandfather (lit. “great father)  
> Dan - But  
> Daro i - Stop that!  
> Hannon le - Thank you  
> Hannon le a thoel - Thank you all for coming  
> heri nîn - my lady  
> heru nîn - my lord  
> Horta - Speed  
> ien nîn - my daughter  
> Ion nîn - my son  
> Iontôr nîn - my nephew (lit. “brother’s son”)  
> Mae govannen - Well-met  
> Man - What?  
> Melda nîn - my love  
> Meleth vîn - I love you  
> Namárië - Farewell  
> Nana - Mom (less formal than “Naneth”)  
> Naneth - Mother  
> Suilaid - Greetings  
> Toroni - Brothers  
> Uma - Yes  
> Verno nîn - my husband  
> Vesse nîn - my wife  
> Súlìmë - March  
> Víressë - April  
> Lótessë - May  
> Nárië - June  
> Cermië - July
> 
> Author's Note: Here are some of the notes from within the chapter itself:  
> (1) *I assume the kingdoms of men don’t use the Elvish months, but I couldn’t find anything different so I stuck to English.  
> (2) *I have NO idea as to how messenger-birds work in real-life. I’m basing most of this on the idea that the elves can communicate with animals very well and that the HP wizards tamed owls so falcons shouldn’t be that much more difficult as they can be trained by Muggles for hunting anyway. I picked falcons because, one, I thought that’d be neat. Two, owls would stand out even more, too much for Harry to be using them, I mean, they’re not even supposed to be out during the day!
> 
> Any way, the next chapter should be along soon. Hope you enjoyed this one, and I’d love to hear from you about it, so PLEASE REVIEW! *pouts*  
> Bye for now! ^_^  
> ~ Jess S


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